


quickstep

by FoxGlade



Category: Dragon Booster
Genre: Dragon Academy Era, Gen, buckle up kids this is gonna be a long one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6879889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxGlade/pseuds/FoxGlade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting into the Academy was the easy part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reception Gala

It’s not something you talk about, in Mid City at least, but the levels of Dragon City are as distinct in culture and class as they are in architecture and atmosphere. It’s a fact of life, something that’s been unchanged since the move from Old City to Down City.

The ballroom that the Reception Gala is being held in is as Sun City as they come.

Kitt darts out from their spot against the wall long enough to grab a glass of sikera, then retreats back to Artha. “I don’t even want to touch anything,” she hisses through a stilted smile.

“Everything here costs more than we made last season,” Artha agrees, also keeping up a fake grin. They both nod at someone passing by. “Have you seen Dad?”

Kitt shakes her head. “The Professor’s missing, too,” she says, and Artha scans the crowd quickly.

It’s nothing compared to the Penday rush at the Mid City Markets, but it’s busy enough that they lost track of each other fairly early in the night. Mostly it’s other racers who were accepted this year, second year students, various alumni from the Elite Class, and the all-important sponsors, but there’s a few celebrities and reporters around, too. At any other time, Artha might try for a brush with fame, but at this point, he kind of just wants to get out of this room alive.

“There,” he says, pointing over the tops of people’s heads, “I think that’s him.” He can see a glimpse of Parm’s hair, if he stands on tip-toes. Kitt puts down her glass on the table behind them and jumps. “He’s probably with his mom, though. Let’s just find Dad instead.”

“Isn’t she a professor here? An actual professor, I mean,” Kitt says. Artha shrugs, then heads into the crowd, keeping an eye out for any bright orange. “It’s gonna be weird, being taught by her.”

“I guess,” Artha says. “Dad’s a professor here too, y’know.” He’s distracted from his search by Kitt abruptly slugging him on the shoulder. “Ow! What was that for?” he demands, turning around to glare at her.

“You never told me Conner was a teacher, too!” she hisses. “I thought he was just, you know, a dragon breeder, and part-time creepy ancient priest.” She lowers her voice to a whisper for that last part, glancing around. Three people in a cluster near them break into delicate laughter; no one is paying them any attention, so she continues, “What happened when he… disappeared?”

Artha shrugs again. There’s a lot he hasn’t talked about with his dad. “He does this specialised course in dragon breeding, so it’s not full time, I guess,” he says, then moves on through the crowd.

Of course, they only move a few feet forward before someone steps smoothly into their path, giving them a vaguely draconic smile. She’s probably about Artha’s height, but something in the way she stands makes her seem taller – probably aided by the floor-length tunic she’s wearing. “Artha Penn,” she says, “and the great Kitt Wonn, I believe.”

“What’s it to you?” Kitt says, eyes narrowed. The woman just laughs.

“Simply looking forward to racing against you, of course,” she says. “Berrakitt, Tanner Berrakitt. Primary racer for the Volcanis team.” She holds her hand out, but Kitt is staring at her face, eyes wide.

“My father’s name was Berrakitt,” she says. “It’s – they named me after him.” Tanner doesn’t blink, nor does she drop her hand.

“It’s an old red draconium name; just another thing we have in common,” she says. Finally, Kitt unfreezes enough to take Tanner’s hand, but instead of shaking it, Tanner raises it to her lips and kisses it briefly before letting go. “See you at the Academy,” she tells Kitt, and then leaves without even sparing a glance at Artha.

Like she’d turned up the volume as she’d gone, the sounds of conversation and clinking of glass suddenly rush back in. “Okay, that was super weird, right?” Artha says. Kitt is still staring out into the crowd, but the bright red of Tanner’s tunic isn’t visible anymore. “Draconis to Kitt, you there?” She starts and turns to glare at him.

“Yeah, weird,” she mutters, then pushes forward. “Let’s just find the others.”

“Hey, slow down, remember the ribs,” Artha complains, squeezing past other patrons. They haven’t actually hurt much tonight, but he’s still technically supposed to be on house arrest to avoid too much movement, so he thinks he’s allowed to use the excuse.

Finally, they manage to stumble upon Conner, who seems to be deep in discussion with two other adults. When he sees them, he smiles, but the other two clam up instantly; the one with the fading orange hair turns to look at them with weirdly intense eyes.

“Artha, Kitt,” he says, “come meet two of your professors. This is Jacksun Vermil, and K’udei.” The orange-haired professor, Vermil, doesn’t make any movement, but K’udei gives them a warm smile, lighting up his broad face. “Although you’ll probably hear him called Van Tat, more often.”

“Hey now, don’t let the kids know I know about that,” K’udei laughs. He shakes Artha’s hand in a solid grip, and then does the same to Kitt, but his eyes remain on Artha. “Heard a lot about you, Artha. I’m looking forward to having you in my house – I’m the Dragon Master for the blue house. You and your brother are both blue primaries, like Conner here, aren’t you?”

It takes at least four seconds of confused blinking and an elbow in the ribs from Kitt to realise the cover his dad’s given him. “Yeah!” he says, slightly out of breath. Kitt is just _not_ remembering his injuries tonight… “Yeah, me and Lance, both blue primaries. Definitely!”

If K’udei thinks anything of it, his wide grin doesn’t give it away. Instead, he claps his hands together and says, “But your team is mixed! I myself went through the Academy with a mixed team; tricky stuff.” He eyes Kitt and adds, “But if you manage it, you’ll come out all the stronger.” He readjusts the colourful shawl around his shoulder. “I’ll take my leave of you folks; I’ll be sure to see you two bright and early in a week’s time. Same to you, Jacksun, Conner.” And with a few nods, he takes his leave.

“What was that all about?” Kitt mutters. Despite the noise of the crowded room, Conner hears it and laughs.

“Don’t take it too seriously; K’udei likes to appear wise, but unless it’s about racing strategy, he usually doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he says. Vermil hums.

“I think he hit the dragon nail on the head in this case, Conner,” he says, speaking for the first time. His voice is quiet, but somehow Artha has no trouble hearing it over the sound of the crowd. “It is indeed difficult to keep a team together if the people are in different houses. The last mixed team to successfully graduate was almost six years ago.”

“Different houses?” Artha asks. He has a bad feeling about this. Conner claps him on the shoulder, gently. At least someone’s remembered that he’s a walking wounded right now.

“Don’t worry too much about it right now,” he says, smiling in a comforting way. “In fact, the only thing you should be worrying about right now is where—”

“I found Parm!” a high voice announces, and then a moment later Parm is barrelling through the crowd to slam into Artha’s side, Lance trailing at his heels.

“Oh! Are you alright?” Parm says, hands fluttering over Artha’s ribs for a moment. Before Artha can even answer, he continues, “You’ll never _believe_ who’s here. Apparently Rafe Leon is a racer now, and he got into the Academy this year! Rafe Leon! Can you believe that?”

Artha squints. The name is vaguely familiar… “Wait,” he says, “that guy from your old school at Sunlight Heights?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Parm says. He huffs and crosses his arms tightly. “He just walked up to me, calm as you like, and started talking! To me! Ooh, the next time I see him…”

“What’d he do?” Kitt asks. Parm just shakes his head, jaw clenched.

“The food here is so weird,” Lance says after a moment, breaking the awkward silence before it can build. “There were these little cups on the table, and when I asked someone what was in them, they said it was fish eggs.” He makes a face. Vermil chuckles.

“I can assure you that the food in the Academy dining room is much less fanciful,” he says to Lance, prompting a dramatic sigh of relief. He turns back to Conner and says, “I’d best be going as well. I have lessons to write, after all.”

“Don’t remind me,” Conner says. They shake hands briskly, and then Vermil is gone, swallowed up quickly by the crowd. “It’s getting late,” he says after a moment, glancing at the four of them. “Especially for you, Lance. We should be getting home.”

Lance groans, seemingly out of principle, because he races ahead of Conner when he moves towards the exit. Parm moves almost as quickly – even if the party is winding down, it’s still loud in the ballroom. Kitt follows at a slower pace, but stops when she realises Artha isn’t with them. She turns back to see him looking off into the crowd with a thoughtful expression.

“What, are you staying here ‘til Initiation Day?” she asks, crossing her arms. “C’mon, stable boy.”

Artha doesn’t take his eyes off of the door he’d just seen someone covertly slip through. “I just wanna check something out,” he says. “Tell Dad I’ll catch up.”

Kitt hesitates, but in the end she just shrugs. “Don’t have too much fun without us,” she says, giving him a significant look. He nods, message received; no Dragon Booster stuff without backup. She leaves to follow the others, and he heads towards the side door.

It’s not a maintenance door or anything secured, but nonetheless, Artha’s suspicious. He walks towards it as casually as possible, glancing to the sides for only a few seconds before slowly, carefully, easing it open and slipping inside.

Or rather, outside. The door leads to a balcony; small, facing an adjacent building, and clearly not as commonly used as the grand one out the front, with its view of the Academy. The only thing on it is—

“Moordryd,” Artha says. Moordryd doesn’t look up from where he’s leaning against the railing, studying the Shadow Booster amulet in his hands.

“Stable brat,” he answers. It sounds less angry than it usually does, so Artha counts it as a win, and leans against the railing as well.

The atmosphere is kind of awkward; Artha’s not really sure if they’re friends now, and he’s pretty sure Moordryd barely knows what a friend _is_. And they’re still rivals, on the track, at least. But whether or not the Dragon Booster and the Shadow Booster will fight again…

Suddenly, Moordryd pockets the amulet, pushing off the railing and scowling like it’d just insulted him. “See you round,” he mutters, brushing past Artha. Automatically, Artha catches his arm and brings him to a stop. He should probably say something. Oh man, now Moordryd is staring at him, they’re definitely not friends enough for this—although… “What do you want, stable brat?” Moordryd demands.

“Are you okay?” Artha blurts out. “You don’t… look great.” Now that they’re face to face, Artha can see it; how he’s even paler than normal, and how the purple eye makeup he’s put on is trying to hide dark circles. Either he’s got a nasty case of dragflu, or he hasn’t slept in days. Not well, anyway.

Moordryd stares at him for another few seconds, apparently taken aback, before shaking himself and snapping, “Why don’t you worry about yourself?” He pushes Artha a step back, and then storms back into the ballroom, without even throwing one last insulting nickname. Something definitely isn’t right.

But it’s getting close to midnight, and if he doesn’t get a move on soon, Parm is probably going to come storming back up to find him. So he lets it go. If something goes wrong, Moordryd will let him know; either by asking for help (not likely), or by making the problem big enough that it affects him too (extremely likely).

At the entrance of the ballroom, he looks around one last time at the glamorous, wealthy people inside. He sees Tanner talking closely with two almost identical girls, also wearing bright red. A man in rich-looking layered fabrics nudges his companion and nods his head toward an intimidatingly large man who can only be another racer.

It’s only been two weeks since the harrowing dragball match that ended the All City Racing season, and in the intervening time, everything about it had seemed slightly unreal, impossible to believe. But standing here now, it hits him with full force.

Initiation Day is in a week, and classes begin the very next day.

Artha takes a deep breath and heads for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would just like to say, from the bottom of my heart, that this is entirely shena's fault. when they convinced me to rewatch this show just over a year ago, i said that someday i'd write an Academy fic -- and here it is.
> 
> we took as much canonical worldbuilding information as possible from the show, the unofficial website, and the creators' Q&A forum session, and then took our cues from them. additionally, i took some general ideas on how the academy is run from another childhood favourite, Hover Car Racer by Matthew Reilly, and in particular the International Racing School that the book is set at. i highly recommend it -- it's basically a dragon academy book, but with hover cars instead of dragons.
> 
> historically, ive never been great at writing (or rather, finishing) multi-chapter fics, so i'm gonna ask you to bear with me on this one. if ive estimated myself correctly, there should be 15 chapters as indicated, but i never estimate correctly, so there will probably be more.
> 
> welcome to dragon academy, folks. enjoy the ride!!


	2. Initiation Day (Part I)

Coming through the official Level One entrance is an entirely different experience to breaking into the library after dark, to say the least.

“Oh! And there’s a fragment of the original welcoming sign!” Parm says, clutching Artha’s sleeve. It’s hard to tell if he’s in his element, or completely terrified – it’s probably a mix of both. “It’s ancient even by historical standards, you know, and people struggle to even _find_ texts from that time period, so there’s some question as to what it literally translates to. I wonder if—”

“Ugh, Professor, classes start tomorrow,” Lance complains. He’s walking close beside their dad, who’d left the cluster of professors and Dragon Masters to see them into the Sensing Chamber.

Seleb is in discussion with another professor, although she occasionally glances up to keep an eye on Parm. Word, the Draconium Gear professor, is nowhere to be seen.

And then there are the rest of the crews. Artha and the others are walking slightly apart from the pack, letting Conner guide them to the correct place, but they’d all gotten a fairly good look at them when they arrived. Artha still doesn’t know any of them besides Moordryd, Cain and Tanner, but he keeps catching glimpses of a short blond in a loose turquoise outfit. He’s pretty sure it’s Rafe, if the irritated looks Parm had thrown in his general direction are any indication.

“What are you complaining about, squirt?” Artha says, reaching over to ruffle Lance’s hair. “You’re not even doing half the classes – you just have your online school.”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna be hard,” Lance whines. Apparently, there had been crew members as young as Lance at the Academy before, so the precedence existed, but it had been enough decades ago that the solutions were out of date. Conner had worked out a system with the other professors, and particularly K’udei, the Dragon Master for Lance’s (assumed) house, wherein Lance will be kept out of the physical training classes and his own specialised Dragon Breeding class, as well as specific assessments throughout the year. Instead, he’d spend that time studying with a fast-tracked online schooling program which will hopefully get him through the last two years of formal education before they come back for their second year at the Academy.

If they don’t all wash out before then.

“Don’t worry Lance, I’m sure the Professor will be happy to tutor you whenever you want,” Kitt says cheerfully. Lance gives an overdramatic shudder.

The corridor leading from the Level One entrance is long and incredible tall, their footsteps echoing on the high ceilings. Artha squints up, trying to figure out if there really is a pattern of some sort on it, or if it’s just the dark messing with him.

“The Sensing Chamber should be further into the building,” Parm continues, seemingly ignoring Kitt’s comment. “I wouldn’t know for sure… knowledge about the Academy structure is incredibly well-guarded. Mum’s never said anything about it – the staff have to make a secrecy pact, I think.”

“We do,” Conner confirms. “I’m impressed you even know what the Sensing Chamber is, Parm.”

“There are references to it in some of the older texts,” Parm says, pleased. “I assumed it would still be around… they don’t still _use_ it, do they?”

Conner just smiles. Parm gulps conspicuously.

Sure enough, they only walk through another two corridors before coming to a stop in an antechamber, set before a set of great stone doors. There’s an almost tangible sense of power radiating from it; he sees Lance shuffle closer to Conner, and Kitt subtly steps in to Parm’s side. He reaches for Parm’s hand.

“Quiet the chatter,” a cool voice says. One of the professors separates from the group, moving to stand in front of the group. She surveys the students with dark eyes before saying, “Welcome to Dragon Academy, students. I am Professor Siicarus, and I am the Headmaster of this establishment. I understand that, due to the nature of our work here, much of what is in store for you is, at this point in time, quite the mystery. But, I have faith in your ability to learn quickly.

“What I can tell you…” Siicarus trails off with a thoughtful expression, then smiles faintly. “What I can tell you. Here, you will learn things beyond what a lifetime of experience can teach. You will make friends – and enemies – that will last until the end of your competitive careers. Dragon Academy will be an experience without compare, whether you graduate after two years, or wash out in the second week.

“You may have heard about the 75% wash out rate. This statistic is correct; but let me be the first to tell you all,” and here she pauses, meeting several eyes in the group of racers before continuing, “that there is no shame in withdrawing, in failure. We encourage learning, and there is no greater learning experience than failure. Just by earning your place in this room, you have achieved incredible things.”

Siicarus pauses to collect herself, and around the antechamber, racers and crews grin at each other, taking the moment to relish in the acknowledgement.

“Now, regarding the immediate future, I can give you far more information,” Siicarus continues. Artha feels Parm’s hand flex nervously in his. He rubs his thumb over Parm’s knuckles and takes a deep breath. “Beyond these doors lies the Sensing Chamber. Within, twelve dragons await. They are the ones who will decide your Casa Draconis; that is, the house in which you will reside, and the draconium colour which you will specialise your study in. Many of you will already know with some certainty what colour house you will be placed in, but some—” Her eyes pass over the cluster of racers. “—may be surprised.”

Abruptly, she claps, the soft sound echoing in the antechamber. The professors move from the back of the room, taking their places behind the raised benches that circle the room; Artha hadn’t noticed them before, due to the way they blend in with the wall behind them. As he looks around, Conner claps him on the back, ruffles Lance’s hair one last time, and then retreats towards the entrance to the antechamber. Seleb meets him there, along with Vermil and another professor that Artha doesn’t know, and together the four of them exit the antechamber, so that only the Dragon Masters and the crews remain.

It’s obvious that that’s what they are – each of them wears a coloured patch on their shoulder indicating what house they’re leading. But after a quick headcount, it’s just as obvious—

“As the keen eyed among you have no doubt noticed,” Siicarus says, “not ever colour is represented by a Dragon Master. Gold draconium has, of course, been thoroughly eradicated from our population… with one notable exception.” Her eyes aren’t directed anywhere near Artha, but he tenses anyway. “Likewise, grey draconium exists only in limited settlements, and has not been represented at this Academy for over a century. Orange draconium…” Her mouth turns down at the corners.

“We, as an institution, have been referred to as timeless. I would argue that description; we are nothing if not a reflection of our times. The draconium colours that you do not see here today are the direct product of thousands of years of conflict and division in our population.” She gestures around the room. “Will they change within your lifetime? Perhaps. But I beg you not to dwell on these thoughts at this moment. Think only on the moment, and on yourself.”

She clears her throat and retrieves a console from one of her pockets. “When you return from the chamber, you will go to your new Dragon Master.” She nods to the professors at their benches, then continues, “In the interests of order, the Sensing will be conducted alphabetically; by city, and then by name. And thus, our first student at the starting line…” Her eyes flick up and meet Artha’s. “Artha Penn, I believe.”

For a wild second, he kind of wants to protest about it not being fair. Or maybe just run. But Parm squeezes his hand before letting go, and Lance throws his arm around his waist to hug him tightly, and Kitt whispers, “Good luck, Artha.” So instead of speaking up or running, he squares his shoulders, gently pulls Lance off of him, and walks towards the chamber doors.

When he’s a few steps from them, they open seemingly on their own power with an ancient-sounding groan. He almost doesn’t look back, afraid that he might not continue on, but all he sees when he glances over his shoulders is Kitt’s fierce, worried expression, Lance’s enthusiastic thumbs up, and Parm’s wide eyes.

Parm gives a weak smile. Artha strengthens his resolve and walks into the Sensing Chamber.

 

 

 

 

 

The doors close behind him with a muffled boom of stone against stone, and he’s enclosed in absolute darkness. The only thing he hears is his own breathing, and the way it echoes – the room must be massive. And somewhere in it, there are twelve dragons, silently watching him.

When the whispering starts, it catches him off guard as if he’d been standing in the silence for hours, although it could only have been a minute at most.

 _He’s here_ , is the first thing he catches, repeated almost inaudibly from different points in the room. He spins to try and catch a glimpse of who’s speaking, but the dark is absolute.

“Who’s there?” he asks, keeping his voice even. The whispering stops for a moment, but then starts again, louder now.

 _He will bring change,_ someone says, _a new era._

 _Of peace?_ another murmurs, _Or war?_

“Why don’t you ask me?” Artha says, loud enough that it drowns out the whispering. “Show yourselves!”

The whispering stops. And then, seconds later, there’s a sound he remembers all too well – the sound of flame igniting. Light fills the chamber.

Finally, he can see the twelve dragons. They stand in a perfect circle around him, expectantly watching. Their draconium colours are distinctive, but every single one of them is larger than their individual subspecies should allow. Even the smallest of them, a whip-thin light green dragon, towers over Artha.

And each one of them holds a ball of fire in their open mouths.

There are myths about dragons having once been able to breathe fire out of their mouths, but it’s only held onto these days as something for kid stories and cartoons, or fantasy vidd dramas. Even the most dedicated of scholars believe that it’s an ability another descendant of their common ancestor had, one that died out before even the Atlantean period – probably during the Extinction Event.

But here they are, right before him.

 _He has already been chosen_ , one of them whispers. He can almost distinguish the direction it comes from – the black dragon?

 _None can claim what has already been taken,_ another agrees.

 _He may take a place with any among us,_ one says, with commanding authority, and this time Artha can somehow tell that it comes from the truly massive green dragon who stands almost directly in front of him, in line with the doors.

 _He has no place!_ one says angrily. _He cannot understand!_

“I understand!” Artha says. It’s not a yell, but it may well be, with how it echoes and silences the dragons. “No one can know I’m the Dragon Booster – that I have gold draconium in me.”

A murmur runs through the dragons, a soft chorus of _he speaks he speaks he speaks._

“I’m trying to do my duty as the Dragon Booster, but I’m still learning,” he continues. Talking to these dragons is kind of like talking to the Ancient Dragon Priests; humility comes easily in front of such obviously wise and experienced creatures.

Silence. Then—

 _Learned enough_ , someone whispers.

_Much more to go._

_He cannot be divided!_

_Not for long._

The last pronouncement, made by the green dragon, almost rings in the chamber.

And then, one by one, the dragons close their mouths, putting out the fire they’d been breathing gently. The room grows dimmer – orange and turquoise step back, silent. Brown and purple, light blue and light green, and, after a moment of stillness, grey, all retreat back from the circle, until only five dragons remain.

He looks around at them, all clustered in front of him. It’s the main draconium colours, he realises, all of them except gold. The last of the five, and the only non-main coloured dragon, stands tall and proud, white scales glimmering in the light thrown from the small fireball in its mouth.

 _The Dragon Booster represents the joining of many colours, and can bring peace to all the empires,_ the green dragon says. It tosses its head almost in a nod, then continues, _Each of us has a claim on you, Artha Penn. But you must be the one to sense where you belong, and where you are needed most._

He looks between them all. “I have to choose?” he asks. The white dragon taps its claws against the stone floor.

 _Your choice may affect many other choices today,_ the black dragon whispers. Artha swallows noisily. No pressure, then.

Surely the sensing for everyone else out in the antechamber won’t be as difficult as this is; surely none of them will have to choose. Or maybe they will? Then again, it can’t be a choice for everyone; he can’t imagine anyone but the black dragon claiming Moordryd for its own house.

As if sensing the thought, the black dragon hissed, then slowly extinguished its light, slowly stepping back. Artha raises his hand, almost calling out for it to stop, but finds that, on this at least, he _has_ made a sort of choice. He has no connection to the black draconium empire, beyond a tentative truce with Moordryd. It won’t be his house.

With this realisation, he turns to the white dragon, only to find it already retreating – although its reflective eyes remain locked on Artha’s. And then only the blue, red, and green dragons remain.

It’s not an easy choice, he wants to say. To decide where he belongs for the next two years, where he feels most connected. And how can he know where he’s needed the most? What does he know about the balance of power between the empires?

 _Where you are needed most,_ something whispers, and he doesn’t know whether it’s one of the dragons or just a memory.

He looks at the red dragon and thinks about the aggression and fighting among the Dragon Flares crew, the stories Kitt tells them about how it’s always been that way, long before she came to live among them. But… he remembers the portrait of the Fire Booster, how they’d stood proud among flames. The Dragon Booster may be the one to eventually unite the empires once more, but Artha has the feeling he won’t be the one to start the red draconium empire on that path.

The red dragon lets out a huff that almost sounds like a laugh, and lets its fire die.

The room is returned to an almost-black darkness once more, lit only by the two remaining dragons. The green dragon shuffles one hoof on the stone.

If he chooses green, then he’ll get to stay with Parm. It’s not a lofty Dragon Booster rationale, but Siicarus had told them to think about the moment, and about themselves, and when he’s faced with a choice of where he wants to belong during his stay at the Academy, he’s self-aware enough to admit that he kind of just wants to be with his friend. They’ve lived together for most of the last ten years, and it’s intimidating to think about being separated now, if only partially.

But… the green house doesn’t _need_ him, and neither does Parm; and when he thinks about the people that need him, instead of the abstract ideals of different empires, there’s only one choice he can make.

The green dragon’s fire goes out, and the room is lit only by the blue dragon’s long-mouthed flame.

“My little brother’s going to be in your house, too,” he says, “and he’s the one who needs me the most.”

The dragon just looks at him with deeply intelligent eyes. _You sense much,_ it whispers, and then, abruptly, slams its jaws shut, cutting off the light and plunging the room back into darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

He walks out of the Sensing Chamber on slightly shaky legs.

“Artha!” he hears three voices say, and when he looks up he sees his crew, his family, moving to meet him. But all four of them are stopped in their tracks by a sharp voice.

“Artha Penn,” Siicarus calls. She stands by the chamber door, overlooking the antechamber, and her eyes narrow as she stares the crew down. “Move to your Dragon Master, if you please.”

There’s no point in arguing. He gives the others what he hopes is a reassuring smile, then moves around the cluster of other students, heading for where he can see K’udei standing with a grin at the left side of the antechamber.

“Thank you,” Siicarus says coolly. She doesn’t wait for Artha to reach the bench before she calls out, “Cain Casandyra.”

“It’s – just Cain. Ma’am,” he hears Cain say.

“Noted.” Siicarus’ cool tone doesn’t change.

Artha reaches K’udei just as the chamber doors boom shut behind Cain. K’udei claps him on the shoulder, directing him to sit at the bench. “It’s an experience, isn’t it,” he mutters as Artha doesn’t so much sit down as collapse.

“Yeah,” Artha agrees. His throat is scratchy, he realises all of a sudden, as if he’s been yelling. But he’d only spoken once or twice in the Sensing Chamber, and he’d been fine before that… “How long was I in there?” It’d felt like hours.

“Only a minute,” K’udei says. Artha twists around to gape at him. “Felt like longer to you, hmm?”

“It was at least ten!” Artha protests. K’udei flicks suddenly sharp eyes to the group of students a few feet from them and Artha lowers his voice. “Seriously, it can’t have been—”

“There are theories,” K’udei interrupts, “but no one is ever in the chamber for more than a minute. At least—” They both look up at the creaking of the stone doors, followed by slow, scuffing footsteps. “—that’s how it seems to those outside of it,” K’udei finishes.

“Kitt Wonn,” Siicarus calls. Artha’s position on the bench is near the back of the room; he can’t see Kitt for the crowd of students between them.

What he can see is Word Paynn, standing in complete stillness behind the benches. There are two other Dragon Masters between him and K’udei; an incredibly short professor with a turquoise patch on their shoulder, and a woman with short, spiky brown hair. Word remains impassive as Cain approaches him, nodding slightly before sitting down.

It’s not like Artha knows Cain beyond a few surface observations, but it seems uncharacteristic of him, the way he sits quietly, shoulders hunched over and eyes on his folded hands. He wonders what the dragons had said to him.

The atmosphere of the antechamber keeps anyone from talking loudly, but a few of the students whisper to each other. One or two of them look back at Artha, but only for a second at a time. And any whispers abruptly stop when the giant doors creak open once more, letting Kitt back out into the antechamber.

“Lance Penn,” Siicarus calls. Artha cranes his neck, trying to spot Kitt, or give Lance one last assurance, but both of them remain out of sight – the red Dragon Master’s place must be on the other side of the chamber.

But he’ll see Lance in a minute. Hopefully.

K’udei had said that each person spends one minute in the Sensing Chamber, but Lance’s minute seems to drag on for far longer; as long as Artha’s own apparent minute had felt. He twists around on the bench and whispers to K’udei, “Can the chamber be dangerous?”

K’udei doesn’t laugh, but his eyes crinkle. “You’re worried about your brother,” he replies, voice equally quiet. “You shouldn’t be. The silent dragons are fair judges, and they don’t harm those brought before them.”

Artha blows out a sigh of relief and sits back, arms crossed. But then the rest of K’udei’s words register. “Why are they called silent dragons?” he asks. “They weren’t even quiet.” Unless by ‘silent’ they meant ‘cryptic and impossible to understand’…

K’udei doesn’t answer. After a few seconds, Artha turns back around, only to find K’udei staring at him with wide eyes. “What?” Artha says. “Uh – not that it was bad or anything…” Just his luck if he got kicked out of the Academy before class even started for insulting a bunch of ancient dragons—

“What did you hear, in there?” K’udei says, voice deadly quiet. But before Artha can even formulate a response, the stone doors creak open again. He barely hears Siicarus calling Moordryd’s name over the sound of rapid footsteps on stone, and then Lance appears, almost falling into Artha’s barely-ready arms.

His little brother is shaking, just slightly, so Artha keeps hugging him, setting him properly on the bench as he does so. “Woah, it’s okay,” he mutters, rubbing Lance’s back. “What happened?”

“Creepy,” Lance says, voice muffled. He pulls back out of the hug, but not too far, so that Artha’s arm stays around his shoulders. “Glad we only have to do that once.”

“You said it,” Artha agrees. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see K’udei trying not to smile.

They sit and wait in comfortable silence until Moordryd exits the chamber and, predictably, takes a seat in front of his father and next to Cain. But Artha barely pays attention to him; just watches the stone doors swing open after Siicarus calls out, “Parmon Sean.”

It’s not as bad as waiting for Lance had been. He knows Parm can take care of himself; not that Lance can’t, but it’s like what he had told the dragons in the Sensing Chamber. Lance needs him – Parm doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean he can’t worry.

“Is Kitt alright?” he asks Lance after a long silence. Lance shrugs.

“She looked kinda weird,” he says, “like…” He pulls a face, scrunching up his nose and turning his head back and forth a few times. “Like that.”

“She did _not_ look like that,” Artha says, trying not to laugh.

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Boys,” K’udei interrupts. His voice is still quiet, but he’s obviously also trying not to laugh.

“Sorry,” they whisper in unison. Lance elbows him. Artha almost responds with a tickle attack, but then the chamber doors open, and all humour drains out of him.

Parm appears almost instantly, and for a moment Artha almost thinks he looks excited. But then he sits down and his hands go over his ears, and Artha sees that his eyes are shut tightly. Not good.

When they were younger, about a year after they’d met – two years? It feels like they’ve known each other forever – they’d gone to a classmate’s birthday party together. His memories of childhood are hazy at best, but he clearly remembers coming back from the snack table and finding Parm huddled against the wall, arms over his head, humming loudly enough that Artha could hear it over the music.

He hadn’t really known what to do at the time. Eventually he’d helped Parm up and pushed him into one of the house’s bedrooms, then thrown blankets over him until he stopped shaking and started laughing instead.

He’s learned a few tricks better than “cover him in blankets” since then, but all of them require being much closer than they are right now.

“Hey, I’m gonna go sit with Parm, okay?” he says to Lance. But when he goes to stand, K’udei’s hand lands on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

“Not now,” he whispers. Artha turns around to look at him incredulously, but the man is dead serious. “You can speak once the Sensing is complete. Until then, the houses must remain separated. That’s the purpose of the Sensing; to acknowledge your differences.”

Artha kind of wants to tell K’udei how the sensing dragons themselves had told Artha that he couldn’t be divided among the houses, and how he’s pretty sure that’s meant to apply to everyone else as well, but he also has a weird feeling that he probably shouldn’t talk too much about his experience in the Chamber. “I just want to make sure he’s alright,” he says instead. K’udei frowns.

“I’m sorry, but you have to stay here,” he says. He glances back over at Parm and nods. “His own Dragon master will see to him.”

Parm still looks stressed, but now the green Dragon Master has moved to sit beside him on the bench, directing a stony gaze directly ahead. Even sitting down, she’s taller than Parm by a solid few inches, and has biceps the size of Lance’s head. As far as Artha can tell, no one in the crowd of students is daring to look directly at her, or by extension, Parm.

Someone settles on the bench in front of the brown-haired Dragon Master to his left, and another name is called. Artha barely notices. There’s a weird feeling in his stomach at the idea of Parm’s Dragon Master, who barely knows him, looking out for him when Artha’s stuck on the sidelines. Which is dumb, because hadn’t he just been thinking that Parm doesn’t need him?

He shifts uncomfortably on the bench and crosses his arms, and the Sensing drags on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i mentioned that im taking a lot of inspiration from multiple sources while writing this fic? especially from sources that also have dragons in them?? so if u get a distinct vibe from parts of this that remind u of another thing, then chances are, yes it is intentional.
> 
> if all goes well, the next chapter should go up next sunday, as scheduled, but as i am flying to another city in a few days, spending the weekend volunteering, and then hopefully galavanting around the city with my cousin + some friends for the following week before returning, the schedule may get a lil out of whack. oops. but hey, dragon booster fans are nothing if not good at living without content, right?


	3. Initiation Day (Part II)

He’s read about the Sensing Chamber before. Never in his life had he even considered that he may one day have to go inside of it, but in the short period of waiting in front of the doors, he’d thanked the stars that at least he would be going in with some knowledge.

Of course, given the secrecy around it, the knowledge was patchy and insubstantial at best, except for a single universally accepted fact: the Chamber is silent. Many even referred to it as the Silent Chamber, noting its haunting darkness and absolute stillness, with not even one’s own footsteps making any sound.

With the indistinct sound of whisper still buzzing in his ears, making his skin crawl and his fingers twitch, Parm can now say that the universally accepted fact is complete dragontosh.

At least the buzzing is fading, now that he’s properly distracted.

“But wouldn’t that have led to an overwhelming urban sprawl?” he asks. Matta, the green Dragon Master, laughs slightly too loudly for the still-quiet atmosphere of the antechamber, but enough people have begun to talk amongst themselves that no one gives them a second glance.

“Maybe a thousand years ago,” she says, “but we manage alright, now. Can’t believe more people don’t do things our way.”

“But the tides!” Parm protests. “The entire reasoning behind vertical, multi-layered cities was the massive tides that would regularly flood single-level settlements!” Matta waves a hand dismissively.

“Even back when the Reach was established, the tides never got that far inland,” she says. “The ancestors thought it would be a better area to live in, where you could see the sky – not closed in under seven layers of infrastructure.”

“Without the benefits that come with an open source of almost infinite water?” Parm asks. Matta smirks.

“Like massive tides that regularly flood everything?” she replies. Parm crosses his arms.

“Well, they don’t _these_ days,” he mutters.

It hadn’t really occurred to him, when he’d been thinking about the Academy, just how _different_ people from other cities would be. When he was younger, the move from Sunlight Heights to Dragon City was a slight shock, but the former is an outreach of the latter, and a relatively young one at that; the cultures underlying them are more or less the same, with only a few major changes between them. And, theoretically, the Reach is the same – its very name is a reference to its initial outreach status. But two thousand years is a long time for a unique culture to develop. Parm wonders how far you’d have to go back in Reach history to find a similar point of cultural reference between it and its parent city.

And if there are so many points of difference between just these cities, what will the students from the Northern Hemisphere cities be like?

He hasn’t been paying attention to the names Siicarus has been calling out, so when someone sits next to him, he jumps. Thankfully, neither Matta nor the new student laugh. “You’re the Dragon City kid?” the student asks. She hardly looks older than Parm, so he doesn’t see where she got the ‘kid’ part from, but he nods anyway. Her face splits into a grin. “Nice. I’m Chiss.”

“Parmon Sean,” he replies, and then chokes slightly when Chiss grabs his hand in an enthusiastic handshake.

“Good to meet ya!” she says cheerfully. Finally she lets go, and Parm takes the opportunity to scoot slightly further away from her on the bench. Chiss doesn’t seem to notice, too busy flinching as Matta slaps her lightly on the back of the head.

“Back off,” Matta says gruffly, “Sunlight Heights types don’t like being touched.” Instantly Chiss’ scowl turns contrite.

“Oh,” she says, “sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Parm says, embarrassingly grateful for the excuse. It’s true enough; physical contact is unwelcome except between the closest of people, in his old home, although that isn’t why he himself doesn’t like it. In the interests of changing the subject, he says, “Is the rest of your team going to be in this house too?”

Chiss shrugs. “Should do,” she says. “Can’t imagine what else they’d get.” Her eyes shift over at the sound of the doors creaking open once more, and she grins at the sight of another girl making her way over. “You took your time,” she says to the girl.

“Slag off,” the girl says in a low voice. “That chamber was messed up for you too, right?”

“Yeah,” Chiss says, but doesn’t elaborate. It makes Parm feel slightly more valid in his own response to it. “Hey, this is Parmon. You have a nickname?”

“Oh, er, Parm, I suppose,” he says. The girl who’d just joined them leans forward to look around Chiss.

“This is Duke,” Chiss says, smacking Duke’s hand away. “He’s not the touchy sort,” she explains at Duke’s offended expression.

Although Chiss and Matta share a passing resemblance with their large builds, broad noses and curly hair, Duke is almost their opposite; much shorter than Parm, with light skin and straight, orange-ish blonde hair in a bun. She also, in comparison to Chiss and Matta’s indifferent looks, seems very interested in the people around them. Parm studiously avoids her curious gaze.

“How many more of you can I expect?” Matta says, breaking the moment of silence.

“Just Leeam, miss,” Chiss replies, only to be met with another gentle smack to the head. “Hey!”

“Don’t call me miss,” Matta says gruffly. “My name is Matta, and you can karkin’ well use it.”

From the context and Chiss’ delighted expression, Parm assumes Matta has just used some sort of Reach specific swear word. Combined with the apparently constant physical contact in both friendly and annoyed fashions, Parm’s starting to wonder if it’s too late to ask to be in another house. The purple dragon had seemed friendly…

 The creaking of the doors had moved past the initial ‘ominous’ and well into ‘monotonous’ by now; Parm barely notices when they open once more, only looking up to see the (presumably) last member of Chiss’ team joining them.

“Leeam, I’m guessing,” Matta says, cutting through Chiss and Duke’s raucous cheering. Leeam nods, sharp face serious, and shakes her hand. “Good to see that the whole team made it.” Matta looks at Parm and smiles. “You even managed to pick up another one.”

“Dragon City’s not getting you back now,” Chiss says cheerfully. Parm lets out a short laugh that hopefully doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels.

“You almost didn’t get me,” Leeam says. His voice is quiet and warm. “That purple dragon really didn’t want to back down.”

“Really?” Parm says, leaning around Chiss to see him properly. “They seemed to do the same to me – I knew that purple was one of my secondaries, but I hadn’t been expecting—”

“Boys,” Matta interrupts. Parm quietens instantly. “Bad luck to talk too much about the Sensing. Some things aren’t meant to pass out of the Chamber, hmm?”

“Right,” Parm mumbles. Leeam sits back on the bench with a thoughtful expression, tapping one foot on the stone floor. It’s a prosthetic leg, that much is obvious just by looking at it, but the strange sound it makes is intriguing. Certainly it doesn’t sound like standard duraplastics, nor any sort of reinforced aluminium, but—

Someone walks past their bench, snapping Parm out of his theoretical mechanics haze. The student heads for the antechamber door sits at the designated blue draconium bench, next to Artha – the first of the blue draconium team, he assumes. Artha and Lance greet the new house member, who must be especially interesting, as Lance immediately leans over Artha to continue speaking to them. Knowing Lance, he’s probably asking questions about their accent, or clothing, or anything else that isn’t Dragon City standard – Artha had done the same to him when they’d first met, after all, and the two brothers are more alike than they choose to believe. He smiles at the memory, right as Artha looks up and meets his eyes.

Artha smiles back, and then tries to mouth something at him. Parm squints. Clearly seeing that his message has failed to land, Artha instead points at him, then gives a thumbs up and mouths again.

_You okay?_

Parm nods back and gives a thumbs up of his own. Artha’s smile widens. Of course, that’s when Lance leans a bit too far over his lap and digs his elbow into Artha’s thigh for balance, making him yelp quietly. Parm has to cover his mouth to stop his laughter at the sight.

He’d gone into this with the knowledge that he and Artha would be separated, somewhat. But he thinks it will be fine. Probably.

“He’s the one who barely scraped through the finals, right?” Duke murmurs to his left. He jumps slightly. “I saw some of the highlights. Tough break with those rogue wraiths.”

“Hope there’s none hanging around this place,” Chiss adds. Parm doesn’t reply. He can’t see Word Paynn from where he is, the crowd between their places, but he glares in the general direction anyway. Of course he’d managed to wrangle his way out of the situation, just like he always did. Duke, meanwhile, is looking at Artha with interest.

“Heard he’s pretty alright, when he hasn’t got wraiths after him,” she says, tapping a finger on her jaw.  “Guess we’ll have to look out for him, yeah?”

“I’m more concerned with Kitt Wonn,” Leeam says. In unison they look over to Kitt, who sits alone on the red draconium bench, not yet joined by any other house members. The Dragon Master, a small yet severe-looking woman, stands behind her with arms crossed. Kitt looks over after a moment and Parm waves awkwardly.

“I was following her last season,” Leeam continues as Kitt waves back. She looks nervous too; it takes Parm a moment to recognise the emotion on her, as he’s only ever seen it once or twice. Kitt Wonn isn’t someone who lets her nerves show often. “Really thought she was gonna make it, last year. She was top of the boards at the start of this season too, only started dropping once Penn joined up.”

“What, she get distracted by his handsomeness?” Chiss says with a grin. Parm splutters. He certainly does _not_ want to think about the appreciation Kitt had for the Dragon Booster when they first met, nor how it coincided with Artha’s crush on her – thankfully both had dissipated long before Kitt had officially joined the team, but it was still an uncomfortable time for them all.

“If she’s the sort to get distracted over all that, she’s not gonna last long with the Volcanis team,” Duke says. “Did you _see_ them at the Reception Gala?”

“It was pretty crikers,” Chiss agrees. Even Leeam nods.

Parm has officially lost track of the conversation. Thankfully, Matta once more comes to his rescue. “For Donna’s sake,” she says, “can’t go ten minutes without gossiping. Karkin’ Reachers.”

“You’re a Reacher too, Matta,” Duke points out. Matta doesn’t react to that beyond a slight smile.

Parm just hunches slightly in his seat. He’d gone into this knowing he’d be well out of his depth, most of the time. It’ll be fine, he tells himself, looking over at Artha and Lance, now bracketed on either side by two racers enjoying a conversation full of wild gestures. Kitt is still alone at her bench.

It’ll be fine. Probably.

 

 

 

 

 

Tanner keeps making eye contact with her.

It’s kind of unsettling, and Kitt doesn’t do well with _unsettled_. Of course, there’s not much else to look at to avoid the eye contact – Parm’s busy making new friends across the floor, and Artha’s blocked by the crowd, although it’s thinning out at a rapid rate. She could look at Moordryd and Cain, but she’d rather not. She does anyway for a bit, just to shake things up.

Her own Dragon Master is silent behind her, and has been the whole time, but she can respect that. It’s a little weird that Word seems to be silent as well, since the only people on his bench are his own son and his son’s best friend. She’s pretty sure they’re friends. Colleagues? In any case, Word at least knows the both of them, so it seems cold to act like they’re not even of the same draconium.

Now that she’s looking, Moordryd seems kind of down about it too. He’s more hunched than normal, and although it’s hard to tell from her angle, he might be leaning into Cain a bit.

But the whole thing is dangerously close to making her care about anything Moordryd may or may not be going through, so she looks away. He was kind of decent at the final dragball match, and Artha seems to at least be lukewarm rather than aggressively red towards him now, but she’ll maintain her own distance from the whole thing until she gets some solid proof that he’s no longer actively trying to kill them all at any opportunity.

The bench directly opposite her is filling up now – white draconium, going by the patch on the Dragon Master’s shoulder, although it’s almost completely covered by their technicolour hair. The others on the bench, weirdly, have the same general hairstyle as the Dragon Master: long white hair, with multi-coloured streaks running through it apparently at random, and the ends of their braids and dragontails tipped with completely different colours.

It must be a fashion thing. They all come from the same place, after all, and she’s heard that North Hemisphere fashions are way crazier than Dragon City trends.

Tanner catches her eye again and winks. Scratch that, Kitt thinks, everything about the North Hemisphere is crazier than Dragon City, even the people. _Especially_ the people.

As more of the students join the white draconium bench, Kitt can finally see the teams on the opposite side of the room, no longer blocked from view. Artha and Lance are talking amongst themselves, but they’re smiling, so their new house members can’t be too bad. And Parm’s still looking slightly less stressed than normal with the other green draconium students, which is a far cry from how he was when he’d gotten out of the Chamber.

She wonders if he’d heard the same thing she did. She holds back a shudder at the memory of it; ringing silence, the dragons surrounding her in complete stillness, only punctuated by snatches of whispered words that she couldn’t pinpoint the source of, no matter how much she tried. _Loyal. Strength. She. Chosen. Fate._

Artha and Lance had looked spooked too. Maybe she’d ask them about it later – the Professor had probably read a book on it at some point, or an ancient dragon scroll, or a dragopedia page.

“Barissa Moten,” Siicarus calls out. The Headmaster is still standing as cool and collected as if she hasn’t been reading out names for the past half hour, her expression still blank and professional as ever. The girl, Barissa, has to be the first of her new housemates, going by her bright red jacket. Kitt even recognises her, vaguely, from seeing her talking to Tanner at the Reception Gala. One of the near-identical girls, she thinks, and now that she remembers, she can see how one of the three remaining students has the exact same haircut as the one who’d just left.

The third girl is less memorable. Kitt doesn’t even remember seeing her in the past half hour, let alone ever before, funny as that sounds. Especially since the girl is wearing a standard mech coveralls, the dark grey not exactly blending with her teammates’ vivid red outfits. The home-made panels of soft pink on the shoulders are a nice touch though, Kitt thinks, and the threads running down the legs in the same colour. They look nice. They look really nice, actually.

The door creaks open again, just in time for Kitt to realise she’s staring at the girl’s legs. Hopefully her new housemate’s first impression of her doesn’t include bright red cheeks, she thinks as Barissa sits down next to her.

“Hi,” Barissa whispers. “You’re Kitt Wonn, right?”

“Yeah,” Kitt replies, automatically whispering as well. “Are you guys all from Volcanis?”

Barissa hums an affirmative, then starts fidgeting with a loose thread on her pants. “Do you… do you think she really meant it?” she asks, and then after a moment of clueless silence from Kitt, “That people get put in houses they don’t expect, sometimes?”

It’s kind of a deep question for the first five seconds of conversation between them. Kitt shrugs helplessly. “Probably,” she says. “Unless she just wanted to scare us.”

It had seemed pretty clear cut in her case. All the dragons stood still around her, those weird whispers sounding off for a while, and then all of a sudden, every dragon except the red one fell back and put out their fires.

“I wasn’t sure if they’d choose me for red,” Barissa confesses, and yeah, this is getting kind of uncomfortable now. But the girl keeps going, chattering nervously in a high, accented voice. “I’ve always been a really strong light green secondary, I was worried they might want me there, you know? I mean, no offense to them, but I really _really_ didn’t want to be there, you know?”

“Sure,” Kitt says. Barissa gives her a nervous smile and tugs on her lopsided hair. Another weird hairstyle, with one side of her hair short and tufted, and the other long and wavy, just past her chin. And a city-specific one, seeing as every other person on the Volcanis team has the same general style, including—

“Frenna Scorn.”

—Barissa’s sister, who exits the Chamber and immediately throws herself onto the bench next to Barissa. “Finally!” she says, and then continues to talk rapidly in another language, only stopping for Barissa to add a few words at infrequent intervals.

Feeling distinctly as if she’s been kicked out of the conversation, Kitt looks around at the antechamber. Everyone’s noticed that they’re nearing the end of the Sensing, and they’re restless to get moving again, the same as Kitt is. On the other side of the room, Lance flops onto Artha, and even at this distance Kitt can hear the familiar whine of _“I’m bored!”_

Standing alone in the middle of the room, Tanner flips her hair and examines a nail idly like she does this every day. It’s pretentious and snobby, but Kitt can respect someone with a good image and the dedication to back it up. The red Dragon Master standing behind her is the same – she still hasn’t said a word or, as far as Kitt can tell, even moved this entire time.

Finally, the girl in the mech overalls walks out of the Chamber, arms hugged around herself, and Siicarus calls for Tanner to go in. The girl – Scorn something? – squishes onto the bench next to Kitt and shivers a little.

“Are you okay?” Kitt asks. The girl looks at her with surprise.

“It is so cold in here!” she exclaims quietly. “And even colder in there, brr!” She gives a more exaggerated shiver and then smiles.

Kitt can’t agree, on account of suddenly feeling unreasonably warm. “Well, it’s almost over,” she says, only slightly uncomfortably. “We’ll probably be leaving soon.”

The girl nods, combing fingers through the longer half of her hair. “It is so exciting,” she murmurs. Like the sisters on Kitt’s other side, her voice is accented, although not with the same inflections. “I have never left Volcanis before. Are you from this city? It is so different!”

“I guess,” Kitt says. “I’ve never left here either. What’s Volcanis like?”

The girl lights up, but before she can say anything, the Chamber doors creak open for the last time, letting Tanner swagger back out into the antechamber. It’s crowded on the bench, but Tanner just stands in place next to Barissa’s sister, as if she’d do it even if there was room to sit.

There’s an audible buzz in the antechamber, everyone excited to finally be on the move again. “Students,” Siicarus begins. “You’ve taken your first steps towards integrating into the environment of Dragon Academy. For most of you, your housemates are already known to you as your teammates. For others—” Her eyes glance around, first to Kitt, and then to the rest of the students, “—you may find yourself amongst strangers. Take heart. In the process of getting to know others, we also get to know ourselves, and you will have more opportunity than most.”

Kitt shifts in her seat. Is everyone at this Academy going to hand out cryptic wisdom like dragon candy?

“But your houses are not only for the purpose of meeting like-minded others. Within your Casa Draconis, you will be taught the history of your peoples. And that is all I can say on the matter,” Siicarus finishes, holding out her hands with a smile. “The rest is for your Dragon Masters to impart, and I pass you into their hands. Classes begin tomorrow at 5am sharp, so rest up.” Amidst the groans of complaint, Siicarus claps once, and on cue, the Dragon Master begin the gather up their charges.

Including the red Dragon Master. “Follow me,” she says curtly, finally moving from her sentinel position behind the bench. The sisters jump up eagerly; the girl in the mech overalls, _Frenna_ , Kitt finally remembers, gives her a nervous smile and does so as well.

Their Dragon Master’s fast pace puts them at the front of the group filtering back out into the corridor, right near Artha and Lance. “Having fun yet?” she mutters to them. Artha covers a laugh with a cough.

And then their Dragon Masters turn and walk in opposite directions, expecting them to follow. Artha gives her a shrug. She echoes it with a grimace. Better get used to being split up, she thinks wryly.

Even so, she looks around at the group walking the same way. It seems like every draconium colour that was on the same side of the antechamber as her; there’s Moordryd and Cain, and the similar-looking kids all in light blue. So the group heading away from them right now must be the other side of the room… Artha, Lance and Parm’s side.

Better get used to being split up, she repeats to herself, but now she wonders if the rest of her crew even have to bother thinking the same.

The other Dragon Masters stay silent as they walk along the corridor, but the red Dragon Master doesn’t seem to have the same hang-ups.

“Congratulations,” she informs the five of them, “for making it this far. You have my barest respect. You’ll earn more as the first trimester progresses – if not, you won’t be around to miss it.” No one seems nervous about the possibility; everyone looks as excited and determined as Kitt feels, but without the hint of unease. “My name is Ko, just Ko, not ma’am or sir or, Gus forbid, miss. Respond with ‘yes, Ko’ or ‘no, Ko’, understood?”

“Yes, Ko,” the five of them say, Kitt only slightly out of unison. Ko’s eyes meet hers briefly, but then move on.

“My place at this Academy is to teach you the history and importance of red draconium,” she says. One of the professors breaks off from the group, taking three students with her, but Ko keeps walking. “Some say it is also a Dragon Master’s responsibility to watch out for the students in her house, to encourage their progress, to nurture their growth. I agree with this statement… nominally.” She flashes sharp eyes at them. “You will have my encouragement, my support, my _expectations_. But I have been informed that I’m not the most nurturing of people.”

In front of Kitt, Barissa gulps nervously. The corner of Ko’s lips twitch. Speech apparently finished, she remains silent for the rest of the walk. The corridor, long and slightly curved, is broken intermittently with wooden doors, each with a coloured panel on it – presumably dorm rooms. When Word Payne abruptly pulls up at one, Kitt makes brief eye contact with Moordryd. He glares for a moment before tossing his hair and looking back to his father. Kitt rolls her eyes. So much for trying to be friendly.

Predictably, the very last door in the corridor is the one with a red panel on it. Ko unlocks it with a key drawn from one of her pockets and stands aside, not so much ushering them in as staring them down until they enter.

Kitt’s first impression, surprisingly, is one of familiarity; the room she walks into reminds her of her own apartment back in Down City, the one she’d given up the lease of only a week ago. There’s a couch against one wall and a viddscreen against another, and then a tiny kitchenette crowded into a corner, between two doors. It’s cleaner than any Down City apartment for sure, and missing the mattress pad on the floor, but the unexpected homesickness still hits her.

“No need for a grand tour here,” Ko says dryly. She moves to the centre of the room, facing them, and points at the door on the left. “Single bedroom.” Then to the left corner. “Bathroom.” Then behind her. “Four person bedroom.” And finally to the right. “Double bedroom. You can sort out your own sleeping quarters. Siicarus will give you a further talk about the facilities tonight in the dining hall. Oh, and I hope you’ve remembered your way here – you’ll have to collect your bags from the stables and unpack before the dinner hour.” She gives a last smirk and leaves.

Barissa’s sister collapses onto the couch with a groan. “Great,” she says. “You can get our stuff, right?”

“Carissa,” Barissa whines. Kitt commits the name to memory; thankfully the sisters seem to be different enough in personality that she’s not going to confuse them for one another.

“We’ll go get our things later,” Tanner says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Let’s do bedrooms. Kitt, which do you want?”

Is she asking because Kitt’s the odd one out in the room, or as some kind of kindness? She’s still kind of suspicious of the attention Tanner is singling her out for, but that doesn’t mean she’s gonna turn up this opportunity. “The single room,” she says, “if no one minds.”

Barissa and Carissa are chatting again in their native language. Frenna is inspecting the kitchenette with interest. Tanner just shrugs. “If you want,” she says, then turns to open the door to the four person bedroom.

And okay, Siicarus had told them to get to know everyone else, but right now she kind of just wants to go see her friends. “I’m gonna grab my bags,” she announces to no one in particular. Frenna looks over her shoulder and smiles. The sisters barely look up.

Kitt doesn’t do well with unsettled, but scales if that isn’t how she’s feeling, in this weird new place with weird new people and the hardest two years of her life ahead of her. Artha and Parm and Lance are weird too, sure, but at least they’re a kind of weird she’s used to, and even fond of, maybe. Not that she’s gonna tell them that.

Instead, she’s gonna do something she _does_ do well with: she’s gonna find her crew, pretend like everything is cool, tease Artha about something dumb, and get some little piece of home to carry with her.

And it’ll all work out fine.

 

 

 

 

 

“Front paw on the four person room!” Lance yells, diving through the door and scrambling up onto one of the bunkbeds. He bounces up and down on the mattress. It’s _way_ bouncier than the one back home – he loves this place already.

“Why do you even want this one?” Artha asks, poking his head into the room. Lance rolls his eyes and flops backwards.

“Two bunkbeds!” he says. “ _Duh_ , Artha. Now you can’t stick me with the bottom bunk!”

“Sorry, guys,” he hears Artha say, probably to their housemates. “I can drag him out if you want this one.”

“S’all good with me,” Nattinnuaq drawls back. “Reckon Tag wants their own room anyhow.”

“Nattinnuaq can take the double,” Tag agrees. “He needs the extra space for his wardrobe, after all.”

“Y’say it as a joke—”

“Why would I be jokin’? I know how seriously y’take your fashion—”

A door slams and the bickering is slightly muffled. Artha starts to climb up onto the top bunk opposite Lance. “Now I get what Parm means about sibling arguments,” he complains. “It’s gonna be fun, right?”

“ _Sooo_ fun,” Lance says sarcastically. He sits back up and starts bouncing on the mattress again. “Can we go and get our bags now? I wanna set up my viddconsole!”

“Lance,” Artha says, in his ‘ _Dad’s not around so I’m gonna be the Responsible Parent_ ’ voice, “you gotta lay off the viddgames for a while. You’re gonna be doing Academy work _and_ your school work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance sighs. He stops bouncing.

“Aw, come on, Lance,” Artha says. He swings his legs off the mattress and looks across the gap between them. “It’ll be hard, but I’m always gonna be here to help, okay? And Dad, and Kitt. And Parm can always try tutoring you again,” he adds. Lance groans.

“He wanted to teach me mag physics instead of my times tables!” he cries over Artha’s laughter.  “He’ll probably start going on about Ancient Dragon Runes if I ask him to help with my Drakkan homework!”

“He’s not _that_ bad,” Artha says, which they both know is a lie. But then he stops smiling and sighs loudly instead. “And besides,” he says, “I don’t know how often they’ll be allowed over here, anyway.”

“What? Why?” Lance sits on the edge of his mattress too, so they’re both swinging their legs back and forth. “We have extra beds, they can stay over whenever they want!”

“I dunno, Lance,” Artha says again. He shrugs. “Don’t these people seem… kind of obsessed with keeping all the houses separate?”

Yeah, K’udei had stopped Artha from going to sit with Parm during the Sensing, but… “Why would they do that?” he asks.

“It’s weird,” Artha says slowly, “but it reminds me of… someone, saying that we shouldn’t be divided. Between houses, or draconium empires. How it could only lead to war.”

Silence. “Woah,” Lance says. “Did Mortis say that? I mean, Dad?”

“No, it was—”

There was a _thump_ from the other room. A familiar voice says, “Oh, so sorry! I just have to—” and then Parm is standing in their doorway, puffing like he’d just ran all the way here from Penn Stables.

“You’ll never believe what I found in the green dormitory rooms!” he says, flapping his hands excitedly.

“Parm, it’s been like, five minutes,” Artha says. He jumps off the mattress and crosses his arms. “What could you have possibly found already?”

“Oh, I think you’ll be very interested to hear it,” Parm says. Then he looks back through the doorway and says, “Er. But perhaps later.”

Nattinnuaq sticks his head into the room. “Y’ran in here like y’had a blizzdrag after ya,” he says. “Not to question y’manners, but any y’all gonna introduce me?”

“This is Parm,” Artha says. “He’s on our crew. Parm, this Nattinnuaq, and Tag is… somewhere around here.”

“Right, yes, good to meet you,” Parm says, nodding quickly before turning back to Artha. Nattinnuaq rolls his eyes and goes back to his own room. “But really, we should get our bags, and maybe we could talk on the way..?”

It’s probably some weird new fact about lizard evolution, or something else Parm thinks is the most exciting thing since the Magna Draconis. “C’mon, Artha,” Lance says, “he’s not gonna quit it until he tells you.” He jumps off the mattress and onto the floor as well.

“Fine,” Artha says, “but I’m serious about the viddconsole, Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They barely even get out of the bedroom before Kitt’s walking through the front door, looking kinda like Artha does when he’s looking through the house for something he’s lost. “Wow, you came over here quick, Professor,” she says, crossing her arms. Parm huffs.

“Well, you’re here too,” he says.

“Don’t tell me you found something unbelievable in your dorms too,” Artha groans. Kitt frowns.

“What? No,” she says, “I just wanted to check on you guys. See if your housemates are as weird as Tanner,” she adds.

“Wait,” Artha says, “wasn’t Tanner the one that kissed your hand at the Gala?”

“She _what?”_ Parm splutters. He clenches his hands into fists. “Why – ooh, she’ll regret that when we beat her on the track!”

Lance stares at him. Artha and Kitt stare too. This is even weirder than Parm usually acts. “Uh, isn’t that a bit… extreme?” Artha says. “It was weird, but it wasn’t like she insulted Kitt or anything.”

“But she _did!”_ Parm insists. “Of all the condescending, mean-spirited—”

“Hold on, Professor,” Kitt interrupts, holding her hand out. “What exactly do you think kissing someone’s hand means?”

“It’s… well, between two people who don’t know each other, such as you and this _Tanner_ person,” he says, his lecturing voice much more annoyed than usual, “it means that person thinks that they’re superior to you. That they’re better, and that they’ll enjoy defeating you. Which she obviously won’t!” he finishes. Lance looks at Kitt and sees her shaking her head.

“I’ve never heard anyone mean it like that,” she says, at the same time that Artha says, “Are you sure that’s not a Sunlight Heights thing, Parm?”

Parm puts a finger up and opens his mouth to reply, then stops. He thinks for a while. Kitt smirks.

“I suppose it _could_ mean something, where Tanner comes from,” he says finally. “But I still don’t like it!”

“You don’t have to like her, Professor, you’re not the one living with her,” Kitt replies.

“What if they were friends?” Artha says out of nowhere. Everyone looks at him. “You said that’s what it means when two people don’t know each other. Is it different for friends?”

“Of course!” Parm says. “It’s—” And then he shuts his mouth and his eyes go all wide, like he hadn’t meant to say that. Lance grins.

“Is it super embarrassing?” he asks. Parm scowls.

“No it isn’t, Lance,” he says grumpily. “It’s just a different matter, that’s all.”

“Maybe it’s like a death threat!” Lance continues. Clearly it’s something _really_ drac if Parm doesn’t want them knowing about it.

“No way, that’d be way too drac,” Artha says, grinning. Parm rounds on him and points a finger.

“Now see here—” he begins, then cuts off with a squeak when Artha just grabs his hand.

“C’mon, just tell us what it means!” he laughs. “Or I’ll do it, and then we’ll have to dragon duel at dawn.”

“It doesn’t mean that!” Parm squawks. “It doesn’t mean anything!”

 “So I can do it?” Artha asks. He yanks Parm’s hand up to his face and makes a kissy face. “I’m gonna do it, and then you’ll have to kill me.”

“I should hope not, Mr Penn,” a dry voice says from the doorway. “They just finished cleaning these rooms, after all.”

Artha throws himself away from Parm like he’s wearing red thruster gear. “Oh, hey, Ms Sean,” he says, super casually ignoring Lance and Kitt’s snickers. “What, uh, how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Seleb says. She looks at Parm for a second before adding, “And you should get used to calling me Professor Sean, now that you’re here.”

“Sure!” Artha says, a little too loudly. “Sure, yeah, of course, Ms—Professor. Professor Sean.”

Kitt’s holding a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. Lance is only keeping in his laughter by grinning as widely as possible. Thank Donna Seleb doesn’t seem to see them; she just gives Artha a weird look and then turns to Parm.

“It would be good to talk to you later, Parmon,” she says. Kitt is taking the moment to point at Artha and laugh in silence. Lance kicks his brother’s ankles. “I’ll be in the dining hall when all of you are called in. If you could find me after eating, then we can talk.”

“Okay,” Parm says, sounding confused. “I’ll, um… see you then.”

“I’ll see you then too,” Seleb replies. She turn back and nods to them all, then leaves.

Lance and Kitt wait a few seconds to make sure she’s gone before they start howling with laughter. Even Parm lets out a snort or two. Artha crosses his arms. “It wasn’t _that_ funny,” he says loudly over the noise. “She just startled me, okay!”

“It was a bit funny,” Parm says apologetically. Kitt wipes a tear from her eye and sighs happily.

“Stable Boy, that was the funniest thing I’ve seen you do since you tried to do a backflip off a dumpster,” she says.

“You were all, ‘ _uh, uh, Ms Professor Sean’_ ,” Lance mocks, “and she just looked at you like—” He does his best impression of her look. Artha rolls his eyes.

“You’re all bad friends,” he says. “Let’s go get our bags before anyone else shows up, alright?” He walks out of the room before anyone can tease him some more. Lance runs after him with a grin.

Dragon Academy is gonna be _awesome._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after four months, here it is: the chapter that doubled the word count AND the unanswered question count! what's the deal with tanner? what did parm find in the green dorms? will artha ever not act like a fool in front of his future mother-in-law??
> 
> so here we have some alternate pov (and writing styles) before we return to artha next chapter, and get stuck into ACTUAL DRAGON ACADEMY CLASSES!! id love to say that you can expect an update some time soon, but my dudes... its hard out there for an actual adult with actual responsibilities. i'll update when i can, even if its a year from now.
> 
> and hey, feel free to sweat out the waiting time on my tumblr, where i have [a specific tag](http://wanime.tumblr.com/tagged/dbooster%20stuff) for complaining abt how hard writing this fic is, and also chatting about random fic details and upcoming plot points. its a Real Hoot you guys. send me a message sometime if u got questions.


	4. First Fortnight

“This can’t be right,” Artha moans as the alarm goes off. Futilely, he flails a hand over the edge of his bunk, but he can’t find the beeper – because the persistent chiming noise, he realises, is coming from the ceiling. Probably an intercom system of some sort.

A second later, his fears are confirmed. “This is the morning alarm,” a monotone voice says, faintly crackling over the speakers. “It is 0400 hours. Breakfast will be served for the next thirty minutes. Classes begin at 0500. This is the morning alarm.” The chimes sound again for a few seconds, and then cut off.

It’s incredibly tempting to just roll over and go back to sleep for the next 55 minutes. But then he remembers what their first class of the day is, and suddenly he’s wide awake.

“Lance,” he groans. He sits up, grimacing at the greasy hair plastered to his face. “Lance, come on, we need to get ready.”

No answer. He swings his legs over the side of the bunk and drops to the floor, stumbling a little. When he checks the bunk under his, the only sign that his little brother hasn’t been eaten by a mound of hungry blankets is the tiny frizz of red hair poking out of it. “Come on,” Arthur repeats, reaching out and shaking what he thinks might be Lance’s shoulder. “You have History with us, yeah? I checked your schedule last night.”

“No you didn’t,” a muffled voice says from under the blankets. Artha grins.

“Yeah, I did, and I know that if we have to sit through 5am lectures, so do you,” he says. The blankets move enough for Lance to peek out at him with one squinted eye. “If you don’t get up now, you won’t get any food until lunch,” he tries instead.

For a second, he thinks even that isn’t enough to coax his brother out of hibernation, but a moment later Lance reluctantly rolls out of bed, rubbing his eyes. “Get dressed and head to the dining hall,” Artha says. “I’m gonna have a shower, so make sure you grab some food for me.”

“I’ll grab you some susmeal,” Lance mumbles, then scowls as Artha ruffles his hair.

“Anything except that,” Artha laughs. He watches Lance wander out the door and takes a moment to appreciate how his brother is a tiny, cute, freckled kid, and on the very likely chance he gets lost, someone from another team is bound to think he’s adorable and safely guide him to the right place. Just one less thing to worry about.

The dining hall is just as intimidatingly ornate as the rest of the place, when he finally gets there, and ridiculously huge, given how there can’t be more than a hundred people in the entire academy. Not even half that number are in the hall right now – he can see a couple of teams clustered at tables, but mostly it’s students and teachers sitting on their own, sleepily chewing their breakfast.

Except Parm, of course. “It looks authentic,” Artha hears him say as he walks across the hall to join the team at the farthest table. Parm has his console almost pressed to his nose, eyes wide with interest. Kitt and Lance, sitting on either side of him, look less enthusiastic. “I’d love to double check with my mum, but, well, given the circumstances—”

“I think the whole hall knows about it now,” Artha says, sliding into a seat opposite them. Parm makes a confused noise and he continues, “Volume control, buddy. I could hear you from the dorms, practically.”

“Oh,” Parm says. He clears his throat and puts the console down. “Is this better?” he asks in a whisper.

“That’s perfect, Professor,” Kitt says, then lowers her head onto her crossed arms. “Wake me up when class starts, okay?”

The rest of the table ignores her. “So you took a picture?” Artha asks. Parm nods, enthusiasm returning, and nudges the console towards him.

“A lot of them,” he says, “Just in case. And in different lightings. I have a theory that there may be some sort of secondary message hidden in it, maybe in invisible ink? Oh, but that would fade over time, but I’m sure…”

He trails off, clearly engrossed in theorising, while Artha flicks through the pictures.

They’d all been sceptical of Parm’s claim of finding a message from the Power Booster in his new dorm room, and even seeing pictures now, Artha doesn’t know if he wants to get his hopes up. It looks promising, sure – clearly ancient carvings in the stone wall, just above the floor, in what might be some form of Old Drakkan. The problem is that Parm’s translation of it is, as he’d admitted, a bit of a rush job, and even if it is correct, some old graffiti reading “free the power” isn’t exactly a neon sign pointing to the Power Booster.

They should really ask Seleb about it. Artha absolutely does _not_ want to ask Seleb about it.

“How did you find this, anyway?” he says idly. Parm twitches slightly.

“Er,” he says. “I was, um. You know.”

“You fell over and then saw it, didn’t you,” Lance says.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Parm replies, irritated. Lance smirks and Artha reaches across the table to flick him on the forehead. “What matters is that this is the first reference we’ve found relating to the Power Booster since the test in the temple. And even if it isn’t much to go on, it’s still something.”

“Unless it’s nothing,” Lance shoots back.

“It’s _something_ ,” Parm stresses. He rubs his wrist for a moment, and Artha can’t help touch the gauntlet he keeps on his own arm at all times.

He can’t imagine Parm as a Booster. There was that time he’d pretended to be the Dragon Booster for a while, along with the others, but that was a disaster for everyone, so it wouldn’t really be fair to judge him on it.

Besides, the only people he has to compare Parm to are himself and Moordryd, so it’s not really a high-achieving club.

“Wonder if the Fire Booster wrote anything in my dorm,” Kitt murmurs into her arms.

“Maybe you should trip over the rug in your bedroom and find out,” Artha says. Parm kicks him under the table. “What did your mom want to talk to you about last night, anyway?”

The Dragon Masters had given them all a kind of guided tour yesterday, after everyone’s bags had been somewhat unpacked (or just thrown in a corner to be dealt with later). It was mostly just around different classrooms and the library, pointedly ignoring anything else. Artha was really starting to see how seriously they took the whole ‘secrecy’ thing here.

The tour had ended in the dining hall, with dinner and class timetables being handed out to the students. But Parm had barely looked at his before Seleb was touching his shoulder and asking if they could speak more privately. None of them had seen him after that.

“Oh, you know,” Parm says, looking down at his plate and tapping his fork. “Just asking how I am. And saying how I should start calling her ‘Professor’. Apparently it’s a great issue here, Professors favouring those with the same draconium colours as themselves, so it would be best to avoid any appearances of, er. Favouritism.”

“Huh,” Lance says. “You think Dad wants us to call him Professor, too?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Artha replies, “but I guess.” He steals Parm’s fork to point at Lance and adds, “You’re not even in his class, so don’t worry about it.”

“Maybe we should call him Mortis,” Kitt says. Artha groans.

“Don’t remind me,” he says, half joking and half serious. Thankfully, Parm distracts him a second later by making a grab for his fork, rolling his eyes when Artha pulls it back and waves it teasingly.

“Honestly,” Parm grumbles and kicks Artha’s ankle lightly under the table. Artha kicks back and grins when Parm attempts to trap one of Artha’s feet under his own, creating a brief scuffle that only ends when Artha looks up to see Kitt giving him a knowing look. He retracts his feet and clears his throat.

“Anyway,” he says, slightly desperately, only to be cut off by the same repetitive chiming sounds that had woken him up earlier, this time echoing through the dining hall.

“This is the class alarm,” the monotone voice says coolly. “It is 0445 hours. The dining hall is now closed. Classes begin at 0500. This is the class alarm.”

“That’s gonna get old quickly,” Kitt complains. She stands up and grabs her empty plate. “You done playing footsie?” she asks. Parm makes a scoffing noise and yanks his fork back from Artha’s slack hands.

Leaving the dining hall, Kitt and Parm seem to remember where their first class is being held just fine, so Artha takes the opportunity to hang back and keep an eye on Lance, who’s dragging his feet.

 “Didn’t you like History when you were taking it at school?” he asks. Lance shrugs.

“I guess,” he says, then yawns widely. “But it was all about Dragon City, and how it got built and stuff. I don’t wanna learn about boring ancient stuff that happened a million years ago. Besides,” he adds, “it’s Parm’s _mom_.”

“You’ve only met her, like, twice,” Artha points out. “How would you know what she’s like? She could be really cool.”

“Is she?” Lance asks.

Caught out, Artha flounders for a second. Technically _he’s_ only met Seleb a couple of times, last night included, so he wouldn’t say he knows her too well. Enough to know she reminds him a lot of Parm, but also to know she’s different to him in weird ways. It throws him off balance on the rare occasions they talk – but, he supposes, those occasions are going to be a lot less rare now.

It’s not a long walk to the History classroom, and they get there with time to spare, but it’s already halfway full. Tanner is lounging near the back with her entourage, and there’s a few kids in brown and turquoise in the front row, as well as – he blinks a few times – yep, that’s Cain, with Moordryd nowhere in sight. Shaking his head at everything wrong with that sight, he looks up to see a short girl waving at him.

He only gets a second of even more confusion before Parm waves back, then hurries up the stairs to that row. Artha remembers now – the girl is from the team that Parm was sitting with, at the Sensing. He can recognise her teammates with her as well, now that he thinks back.

He follows Parm up and into the row of seats, and hears Kitt pushing Lance ahead of her to sit next to him. “These guys are cool, right?” he asks. Parm nods quickly.

“They’re very nice, actually,” he says, and then when they reach the others, “Are you sure we can sit here?”

“S’what I waved you over for,” the short girl says, gesturing for them to take a seat. “Wanted to meet our roommate’s crew, since we have time before Sean turns up.” She leans around Parm to look at the three of them. “Bit of a mixed bag, ay?”

Maybe it’s her weird accent, but it kind of sounds like a compliment, so Artha will take it as one. “I’m Artha,” he says, “and that’s Kitt, and my little brother Lance. You’re from the Reach, right?”

“Born and raised,” the girl confirms. “I’m Duke. That’s Leeam and Chiss, but they’re a little busy right now.” When he looks over, he sees the other two team members arm wrestling on the tiny desks in front of them.

“Wow, Parm, you fit right in with these guys,” he says without thinking. Duke snorts. She seems alright, he decides.

“You can joke, but they all come from quite strong engineering backgrounds,” Parm says, sulking slightly. “No computer programming like you, which is a shame, but Leeam has done some incredible stuff with bioengineering, specifically in the agriculture sector…” He visibly pulls himself back from the topic and says, “Well, I’ll tell you about it after class.”

“Sounds interesting,” Artha says, and he means it sincerely.

“It’s very cool,” Parm replies. He grins sheepishly, and Artha smiles in return.

And then a second later Kitt remarks, “Ugh, did that guy get lost on his way to the Fashion Institute or what?”

Parm glances away and immediately scowls. “Don’t look,” he mutters, but Artha’s already staring at the person walking into the classroom. He’s wearing overlarge sunglasses perched on a swoop of yellow hair, all wrapped up in a draped sweater in the same colour. Compared to the tight, practical clothing of everyone else in the room, he does indeed look like an escaped fashion model.

“Crikers,” Duke says, squinting. Artha has no idea what that means, but he agrees.

“Is that Rafe Leon?” he asks Parm, who just nods and continues scowling. “Man, he really got under your scales, didn’t he?”

“He doesn’t even remember who I am!” Parm says instantly. He visibly fumes for a second, bouncing his leg violently enough to hit the underside of the desk. “Look at him just, standing there!”

They both look up. Rafe is chatting with someone in a purple jumpsuit, casual and carefree. “You’d better beat him on the track, Artha,” Parm says, and he sounds so unexpectedly venomous about it that Artha almost laughs.

Instead, he rubs Parm’s shoulder for few seconds and says, “Course I will.” A thought occurs to him a moment later and he adds, “Besides, I can’t even participate in the first race, because of my ribs, remember? So Kitt’s gonna be the one running him down.”

That actually seems to work. “Oh, she’ll definitely beat him,” Parm says, slowing the bouncing of his legs down considerably. “Not that you wouldn’t! But, you know.”

“Sure,” Artha says, amused. He looks back over to where Rafe was, but the space is empty, until a second later when Seleb walks in the door, console in hand. He snatches his hand back off Parm’s shoulder automatically in a move that would be embarrassing if Kitt and Lance were paying any attention.

“Quiet,” Seleb says, and the room hushes instantly. She taps her finger on the desk in front of her once, twice, then continues, “Thank you. This is your first class at this institution, and I would like to begin immediately. My first task is to intrust you on how to access the Dragon Academy system via the Dracnet, and I will do so by guiding you to this course’s syllabus. I assume you all brought your consoles to class,” she adds. There’s a rush of muffled noise as everyone scrambles to get their consoles out of bags and pockets. Artha fumbles his from the pocket of his jacket and sees Lance and Kitt do the same. Parm, of course, had his out and ready from the second Seleb entered the room.

She rattles off instructions for logging on with their automated usernames and passwords, and barely pauses before leading them to the course profile for her class. There’s a disheartening amount of folders and links there already, with names like “Required Reading” and “Study Guides”.

“From there, you should be able to find the profiles for your other classes,” Seleb concludes. “Many of them will require far less online work, but as you can see, this is not one of those classes.” She taps a finger on her desk again. “However, that is for you to peruse on your own time. I will go over the syllabus with you all, and then we will begin.”

Parm opens a note taking operation to split his screen, and Artha hastily does the same, nudging Lance to show him as well, trusting that Kitt will follow his lead.

“History is not an objective topic,” Seleb begins. Her tone is calmer than that of Parm’s when he really gets into his own special interests, but Artha recognises the enthusiasm in it anyway. “I have my own views on History, and so do each of you – even those who hail from the same city as I do, or those who live in this city, where I now live.” Her eyes shift to meet Parm's, but very quickly move away. “In this first trimester, I will be reviewing what you all know of history, by way of fornightly formative assessment.” Several students groan quietly, Duke included, but Seleb holds up a hand against the protest. “And by formative assessment, I am referring to my own personal recording of your progresses and lack thereof. These assessments will not contribute to any grade I eventually give,” she clarifies. A sigh of relief sweeps the room and she smiles slightly. “There will be a test at the end of the semester, but rest assured, I do want all of you to pass it, so it will not be exceedingly difficult. That is, if you keep up your study outside of class.”

She goes over the specific time periods on the syllabus, but Artha can feel his attention drifting. Parm is making notes as fast as Seleb talks. Duke and Kitt are doing the same at a much slower rate. He sees Lance doing his best, but losing track of what Seleb is saying, just like Artha is.

“—the Dragon-Human War, but in lesser detail,” she says, yanking his attention back. “It will be covered further in the next trimester, along with the Gold Draconium Event and its immediate aftermath.”

Parm’s hand goes shooting up. Seleb blinks once, then says wryly, “Although I encourage questions and vocal participation, I wasn’t expecting it so soon.” Parm wavers, pulling his hand back down, but Seleb gestures and says, “Go ahead, Parmon.”

Parm clears his throat. “Will the Dragon Booster be considered part of the Dragon-Human War unit, or does he count as a separate History module?” he asks. “Especially due to, ah, recent events. You know.”

Seleb nods thoughtfully. “I had considered doing so,” she admits, “but for now, yes, the Dragon Booster will be consigned to the War unit, and thus given minimal time in this class. There are one or two texts regarding the Boosters in the Required Reading folder on the course profile, if I recall correctly, but any study outside of your own time will have to wait until next trimester, I’m afraid.”

She continues on through the syllabus, but again, Artha’s attention is drawn away – this time by Duke’s quiet voice.

“You live here, right? In this city?” she whispers to Parm, looking down and pretending to be engrossed in her console. “You ever met the guy himself?”

Parm gives a nervous, slightly too-loud laugh. “Obviously not,” he replies, in a voice that screams _I’m lying, be suspicious of me!_

Duke, to her credit, just gives him a side-eye and shrugs, going back to her note-taking.

For a three hour class, the time passes surprisingly quickly. Seleb goes over the basic features of the Atlantean period, simple stuff that even Lance already learned at school, and then points out some different interpretations of texts from that time. A discussion starts up surrounding a cultural misunderstanding between one of Duke’s team members and a girl with white hair who’s probably from Valleyim, and Seleb ends up leading the class through some core differences in Northern and Southern Hemisphere cultures, which is cooler than Artha would’ve believed.

“But I won’t say too much,” she ends with, glancing at the clock on the side of the room. “You’ve been given a truly unique opportunity at this institution, as I’m sure our Headmaster has impressed upon you already. If you wish to know more about your cultural differences and similarities, I’d suggest simply getting to know one another.” She taps her console and puts it on the desk behind her, and students around the room start to pack up. “Look over the Required Reading before next week, as there will be a test on Atlantean period beliefs and values. Singh’s text on the subject is particularly informative, and that is all I can tell you. After the test we’ll briefly look at the War, and quickly move onto the formation of Dragon City and Northaven, so if you feel like reading ahead, you know where to look. That’s all.”

Everyone moves pretty quickly after that – yeah, the class passed unexpectedly fast, but they’d all still been sitting still for three hours. Lance practically launches himself out of his seat and stretches his arms above his head with a groan.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, squirt?” Artha says, nudging him off balance so he stumbles backwards into Kitt. She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.

“I _guess_ ,” Lance says. “The Valleyim stuff was pretty cool. That’s where Mom’s mom was from, right?”

“Yeah, and that’s why you’re gonna have white hair when you’re my age, too,” Artha teases, ruffling his hair. Lance bats him away.

“Is that seriously why?” Kitt asks. She leans over Lance and flicks the white fringe above Artha’s forehead and says, “I thought you just dyed it for some weird reason.”

A flash of red behind her distracts him from answering. “Look out,” he says, nodding over at Tanner and her crew, loitering on the stairs near their row. When Kitt turns around, Tanner waves her over with a smile.

“Seriously?” Kitt mutters to herself through a fixed smile. She looks back at him and Lance and says, “I’ll catch up to you guys. Right after I figure out what this girl wants from me.”

Parm is locked back into conversation with Duke, smiling nervously as she talks about the Dragon Booster. Artha wages a quiet battle with himself as to whether he wants to pull Parm out of a potentially stressful situation more than he wants to listen to someone gush about his achievements.

“Reckon only the cool stories travel out to the Reach, though,” she says. “The guy has to have messed up _something_ at some point, right?”

Okay, that decides it. “We should get moving, don’t wanna miss out on lunch,” he says loudly, pulling Parm away by the wrist.

 

 

 

 

 

When Artha was younger, still in school and with endless free time to play viddgames and hang out with Parm and avoid the dragons in the stables, his dad would sometimes tell him about his day while cooking dinner. Running the business of dragon breeding, training some of the better racers on the All City Racing Circuit, looking after him and Lance (although that was always the smallest part of his day).

“Sometimes I wish there were more than eighteen hours a day,” he’d finish with.

Artha understands that completely now.

He and Lance quickly fall into the routine of waking up as close to the dining hall cut-off time as possible, dressing and ducking in to grab a drapple fruit or two before finding Kitt and Parm so they can head to class together. It’s probably not the most efficient routine, Artha can admit, but hey, it’s the first fortnight. He’s just trying to keep his head above the water as it is.

And he’s trying to make sure Lance isn’t drowning at the same time. Their second day, both classes are ones Lance isn’t taking, so Artha points him in the direction of the library and wishes him luck.

“I don’t know if I can,” Lance says quietly. He’s like Artha – easily distracted from tasks without somebody there to keep him on track. The way his accelerated course has been put in place, Artha doesn’t even know if Conner is aware of that.

He kneels down and smiles at Lance, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Just do your best,” he says. “Try and get through two lessons. Maths and Drakkan, if you can, and if you get into any trouble, send me a console message. Dad’s class is second today, I’m pretty sure I can take a break and help.”

“So you can skip class but I can’t?” Lance accuses.

“Yep,” he says cheerfully, then pats him on the shoulder and stands up. “Seriously, you’ll do great. See you at lunch.”

Conner’s class is a breath of fresh air. It’s labelled as Dragon Communication, but he covers a range of stuff, from breeding techniques to harnessing their dragons’ secondaries in different ways. Plus, it’s held in the Academy stables, so he gets to hang out with Beau, which he didn’t realise he was going to miss.

And then there’s Word’s Gear class. The less said about that, the better.

“Well, he _is_ teaching us some things even I didn’t know,” Parm points out.

“Between insulting everyone in the class,” Kitt replies. She shoves a spoonful of toffel mash into her mouth and adds, “Even Moordryd. I mean, that’s pretty harsh.”

“Never thought I’d feel bad for Cain,” Artha says, “besides feeling sorry for him having to be Moordryd’s best friend.”

They all chew on that for a second. “Won’t feel bad for them on the track tomorrow,” Kitt says.

The briefing for the first race of the Academy season had been passed around that day. The format was one Artha had heard of on the Elite Class Circuit, referred to as a Drop-Off Sprint. This particular race was being called a Drop-Off 12:2:1 – twelve laps, and every two laps, the racer in last place would be taken out of the race. Meaning that, with the eleven teams in their year, five of them would drop off over the course of the race, leaving the last six to fight for first place during the last two laps.

The tricky part would be balancing speed with endurance. Twelve laps is three times longer than the longest race Artha had ever run, and he knows it’s the same story for every other racer in the room. Sure, the Drop-Off Sprint always takes place on a track much shorter than most others, but it didn’t mean it wouldn’t still be a challenge.

“Certainly no one’s going to feel bad for _you_ ,” Parm says. He gestures as he says, “I think more people here know of you then they do of Artha, since you’ve been racing for longer than he has. One of my teammates says he was following your career last season.”

“Your teammate?” Kitt says, sceptical. Parm coughs.

“Roommate,” he amends. “They keep calling me their honourary teammate. What I mean is, more people here know of your strategies and weaknesses on the track than Artha’s, so you’ll have more people focusing on you than he would.”

“Like I can’t handle it,” she scoffs, but she glances around the dining hall at the same time, betraying her nerves.

“And we haven’t gotten the chance to study anyone else’s tactics, either, so you’re at a natural disadvantage,” Parm continues obliviously. “Really, it’s a shame Dragon City is so insular, it’s almost impossible to get information about the circuits in Northaven, let alone the smaller cities like Stillwater or the Aleksii Islands—”

“I think she gets it, Parm,” Artha interrupts. Kitt is staring at the plate in front of her, jaw clenched. Parm sees this and coughs again.

“Right,” he says. “Well – I’m sure it will all work out. You have more natural talent than most people in the room, I’d wager.”

“Hey,” Artha says, mildly offended.

“Yeah, you almost had Artha beat til the last few races!” Lance pipes up. “They’re gonna eat your dust out there!”

Finally, Kitt looks up from her plate and smiles at them all. “Thanks, guys,” she murmurs. Her expression is weirdly sincere, but before Artha can do something dumb like start talking about what a good friend she is, Kitt reaches over and punches his arm. “Guess I gotta do my best to give the Boy Wonder a leg up on the competition, huh? Since you’ll be taking over next race, and there’s no way you’ll be beating anyone.”

“Hey,” Artha repeats, somewhat more offended now. But it makes Lance laugh, and even Parm covers a snort with his hand, so he guesses he can let it go for now.

She's got a hard race ahead of her tomorrow, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

**LAP 9  
RACE TIME: 19 MINUTES**

Wyldfyr tosses her head, roaring with effort as she throws herself over the jump. There’s a moment of weightlessness as they hang in the air.

“Kitt..!” Parm’s worried squawk comes over her comm link. She taps the thruster gear at the last second and shoots back onto the course.

“I got it, I got it!” she shouts over the connection. Wyldfyr’s thundering steps haven’t faltered yet, but they’ve still got more three laps to go. She’s already seen a slippery little Pack Class dragon and a heaving Earth Class dragon get eliminated by falling behind from exhaustion.

But everyone else seems to be going strong. She’s running in a cluster with two others – one she recognises as Parm’s friend from the Reach team, but the racer in light green is a stranger to her.

Ahead she can see the pack leaders, with Moordryd pulling out in front, but Tanner and the kid in turquoise are giving him some competition. Kitt’s taking care to hang back from them, because she knows how Moordryd fights, and she wants a distance between them until the very end.

Even as she thinks it, she has to jerk lower on Wyldfyr’s head, scowling at the little light green racer trying to run under her feet. She catches the kid’s eye and bares her teeth. The kid gives a salute and tightens their dragon’s gait, pulling ahead slightly.

As if! She leans forward slightly, urging Wyldfyr on. “Keep it steady,” she murmurs, stroking her dragon’s neck for a second. They’d never gone in for the endurance races, but scales if she’s going to finish in anything less than a top three position on what might well be her only race of the season.

The hairpin turn is coming up, and beyond that, the finish line. “No elimination this round,” Artha reminds her over the comm link, “but watch out for the Northaven racer. He’s in last, he might do something crazy at the hairpin.”

“He’s gonna have to catch me first,” Kitt says, but she keeps her ears out for trouble anyway. Her real concern is that light green racer, who’s slowed down after that burst of speed and is in very real danger of catching under Wyldfyr’s feet. And with Duke pinning her in on the other side, that could go real bad real fast.

The issue of the hairpin turn is twofold. The sharpness of it means that slowing down is mandatory, unless you want to go flying off the sides and into the safety zones beneath, and even if you brake just right, there’s always the risk that someone else won’t. However, it’s possible to avoid all that with a powerful thruster boost and some aero gear gliding – provided that you can take the drain on mag energy required for it.

Kitt isn’t anywhere near desperate enough for that yet, but the wilder Northern Hemisphere racers might take the chance.

Going into the hairpin, she sees the turquoise racer slam up against Moordryd, but she can’t focus on that now. The little light green racer has shot out ahead again, going in fast only to brake at the last second with a powerful forward thrust. They scramble, losing footing for a second, but recover in time to take the turn at half speed, just those precious few inches closer to the pack leaders.

Kitt and Duke both take a more cautious route, slowing and skidding through the bend with less than a foot of distance between them. Duke’s taken the smaller inside track, but that’s fine – Kitt’s been in enough races to know how to use the G-force of the turn to her advantage. As soon as they clear the worst of the bend, she taps her thruster gear again, throwing Wyldfyr forward, ahead of Duke.

“Nice one, Dragon City!” she hears the other girl yell behind her, and grins fiercely.

She shoots over the line in fifth, chasing the light green racer and tailed by Duke. The next lap will end in elimination, and she wants to move up into fourth to secure her place in the final sprint of the last two laps. Which means that this little green lizard is going _down_.

The first obstacle on the track is the swinging hammers, but that’s old dragon hat by now. She swoops through those with ease, and since she’s been separated from her own cluster, there’s no one around to nudge her off course, either. Seconds later she’s in the clear with eyes locked onto her target.

In the rapidly closing distance, she sees the pack leaders struggling. It’s weird that Moordryd’s energy drain whips haven’t made an appearance, but he’s probably saving them for the final sprint, the same way everyone else is saving their secret weapons. She knows Tanner has something planned, but the turquoise kid is a flashy wild card.

But they’re coming in to the second obstacle now, a forest of tall duracrete poles. This one is a simple agility test, but with a twist — half of them are outfitted with de-mag strips. Brush up against one of those and you’d find yourself at a sudden and serious loss of mag energy.

Again, Kitt goes through it at full speed. She knows the areas to avoid now, after narrowly avoiding the pile up incurred by the racer from Valleyim two laps ago. The jump is only a hundred metres after it, and she's planning on overtaking the light green racer there.

Behind her, she hears a shouted curse from Duke, and guesses that the other girl had nudged a de-mag strip accidentally. One less thing to worry about.

Flying out of the forest, Kitt hunches low over Wyldfyr’s head again and pats her neck. “Almost there, girl,” she mutters. In response, Wylfyr tosses her head and rumbles, ready for action.

And then they’re at the jump. With the light green racer already below her on the track, Kitt slams her aero gear open and opens the thrusters to full, powering her over the jump and far out ahead, halfway between the light green racer and the pack leaders.

They touch down and Kitt immediately pulls the aero gear in, letting the thrusters die down. “Tough luck!” she shouts back to the racer behind her, and grins at the cheers of her teammates over her comm link.

“You’re all set for the final chase now!” Parm cries, “If you can pull off a second place finish, or even first—!”

“Just watch me work, Stable Boys!” she shouts back, Wyldfyr eating up the distance towards the hairpin.

Going in, she knows the light green racer is going to try something – they don’t seem like the sort of person who’d give up on the opening match of the season. So she’s on alert for anything in the corner of her eye.

What she doesn’t expect is for the venting gear she’s using as brakes to reposition themselves and leap her _forward_.

Right into the hairpin.

“You’re way off balance!” she hears Parm shout over her own involuntary yelp. Struggling, she cuts off the venting gear and throws herself to the side, desperately wrangling Wyldfyr into the turn. Her dragon screams, flicking out her tail to try and balance, and for a second Kitt thinks this is it—

—but Wyldfyr claws through it, leaving deep gauges in the track, shrieking with the effort of it but pulling herself back in line to power on towards the finish line.

Bent over her head, Kitt breathes heavily, feeling the muscle balance gear work overtime to cool her dragon’s overheated muscles. “What the scales was that!” she shouts when she finally works the air back into her lungs. “Parm, come on!”

“I’m working on it!” he says frantically, and she can almost hear his rapid taps on his console screen. “As far as I can tell, something’s interfering with your gear!”

“Thanks, Professor, I hadn’t figured _that_ out!” she yells back at him, and then freezes as Wylfyr lets out a pained yowl. “ _Parm!_ ”

“Her muscle balance gear is malfunctioning!” he yelps. “I’m shutting it all down remotely! I’m sorry, Kitt!” And with that, the comm goes dead.

Wyldfyr quietens, but Kitt can feel her ribcage heaving. They’re over the line in fourth place, but a second later, the light green racer shoots past with a smirk. Kitt glowers at them and pats Wyldfyr’s neck. “You did great, girl,” she says quietly. “We can finish this without gear, and show all of them what _real_ racing is.”

Behind them, a siren sounds. “End of Lap Ten,” a cool voice announces. “Eliminated racer is Northaven.”

Now that they’re in the final sprint, all bets are off. The pack leaders are pulling away from her as she slows fractionally, but in the distance she sees the turquoise racer pounce on Moordryd’s tail. He’s shaken off a second later, but it’s a dirty move, and it unbalances both of them as they go into the swinging hammer obstacles.

The light green racer is almost at them now, about twenty metres ahead of Kitt. She centres herself and whispers a quick prayer to Donna before urging Wyldfyr into a burst of speed.

She follows the light green racer through the field, memorising their gait, looking for any weakness in their stride. She thinks she can see some falter every few steps, and no wonder – it’s a Scavenger Class dragon, built for stealth and speed, not endurance. Both of them have to be exhausted by now.

There, she sees it again! On the fourth step, a hesitation in the dragon’s right leg. A muscle strain, maybe. A weakness? Definitely.

They shoot out of the swinging hammers with Kitt on the racer’s tail. Fifteen metres behind, then twelve, then eight. She keeps the pace, not wanting to alert them, although they surely know she’s there. She wants them to underestimate her.

Right until she makes her move.

The forest of de-mag strips is looming, and she keeps her eye on the light green dragon’s right leg, trusting Wyldfyr to know where to step.

They shoot into the forest.

The light green racer ducks and swerves, and Kitt gains another three metres.

They’re halfway through the forest.

The light green dragon’s right leg falters visibly.

And Kitt pounces.

Shrieking, Wyldfyr throws her head down and into the dragon’s side, tossing it almost into the air—

—and directly into a duracrete pole outfitted with de-mag strips.

The dragon bounces off the pole, light-fitted armour ensuring it isn't too injured. Kitt flies past too fast to see if the rider ejects, but she trusts the other racers to avoid the pair if worst comes to worst. But overall, she can’t bring herself to care that much.

She bursts out of the forest with a sense of grim satisfaction and works towards catching the pack leaders, free of the light green menace.

Which would be a lot easier if she had her muscle balance gear, she thinks ruefully, only to be distracted a moment later by the crackle of her comm link.

“Kitt, there’s gear on you!” Lance shouts nonsensically. Kitt blinks. “There’s a piece on Wyldfyr’s tail, I saw it! Parm says it’s not one of yours!”

She twists around to looks closer at the base of Wyldfyr’s tail. Sure enough, blending in with the plates of her muscle balance gear, is a tiny foreign piece of gear, occasionally flashing with a bright green pulse.

Bright, light green, like the racer who she'd just knocked out of the race.

“Wyldfyr, can you mag off that gear on your tail?” she calls out, hoping her dragon understands and doesn’t start ditching the muscle balance gear. A moment of thundering footsteps passes and then Wyldfyr shakes her head with a groan.

“It’s stuck in there, guys, any ideas?” she says over the comms.

“If you could channel mag energy you could blast it off,” Artha suggests. Kitt rolls her eyes.

“Well we can’t all be the Dragon Booster, Artha, so if you have anything else?” she shoots back, but Parm’s excited stammering interrupts her.

“No, no! Artha, can you teach her how?” he says.

“ _What?_ Parm, I barely even know how I do it! And she’s kinda busy right now!”

“You know, usually I’d agree, but I’m running out of options here!” Kitt yells. They pass the jump just barely without thruster gear and pound on towards the hairpin. “Come on, Stable Boy, gimme something here!”

“Okay, okay!” he yells back. “Uhh, I guess, you try to connect with your dragon first. They have the mag energy, and they know what to do with it. Wyldfyr can help you! Try and feel her mag energy signature!”

“If you say so,” Kitt mutters, and hugs herself closer down on Wyldfyr’s head. She closes her eyes, trusting her dragon to steer them correctly, and tries to feel a pulse of energy, a heat source that isn’t just Wyldfyr’s heaving muscles.

And something in her… shifts.

There’s a spark, and a rush of crackling electricity through her body that feels like the rush of adrenaline you get from touching something superheated. “Woah,” she breathes.

“I think she got it,” she hears Lance say.

“Okay, now Kitt! Scrunch up all that energy and just… let it out!”

The instructions couldn’t be more vague if he tried, but it doesn’t matter. When she feels the power, she knows what to do.

She twists in the saddle and clenches her fist, then hold it out towards the foreign gear piece – and she lets go.

The blast of red mag energy knocks the gear clean off Wyldfyr and sends it flying back onto the course behind her.

“Drac!” Lance shouts over Artha’s wordless whoops of excitement.

“Turning your gear back on now, hold on…” Parm says, and a moment later her muscle balance gear _vhoom_ s to life. Wyldfyr tosses her head and roars at the feeling of new energy circulating into her legs just in time to slide into the hairpin, taking it with masterful grace before Kitt activates the thrusters.

They work perfectly, and the two of them shoot down the straight and over the finish line. And into the final lap.

With the muscle balance gear working hard to return Wyldfyr’s overworked body back to peak performance, the dragon seems to be achieving a second wind – and Kitt, now tapped into her mag energy reserves, is feeling it too.

“Okay, girl, let’s go get ‘em,” she says.

The three had clearly been battling in the last lap, oblivious to Kitt’s predicament, but that was to her advantage. They’d all slowed down a fraction, allowing Wyldfyr to eat up the distance between them without breaking a sweat. Tanner and Moordryd are still side by side, nudging each other off course again and again, while the turquoise racer had dropped back to avoid any damages.

The three speed into the swinging hammers, and Kitt follows like a tracking dragon hunting down a mark.

In the midst of the obstacle, Moordryd tries the same move as Kitt – his dragon drops its head under Tanner’s dragon’s belly and noses it off course. Or, he tries to. Tanner dances out of the way, dragging them both into the path of a hammer heading right for them.

Moordryd dives back into his original position. Tanner slams some gear on her side and a visible wave of heat, so powerful Kitt feels a brush of it from twenty metres back, blasts in front of her and pushes the hammer back for the split second she needs to duck underneath it and dodge back into Moordryd’s space.

“Gotta get me some of that gear,” Kitt mutters. She’s tailing the turquoise racer and trying to pinpoint a weakness in the same way she did for the light green racer, but the guy is good. If she really wants to beat this guy for whatever revenge Parm is trying to enact through her and Artha, she’ll have to step it up.

Good thing stepping it up is what she _does_.

On the stretch between the swinging hammers and the forest of de-mag strips, she quickens her pace, but the others do too, so the three leaders go flying into the forest still ahead of her. Another scuffle ensues between Moordryd and Tanner, with the turquoise racer staying out of it again, but this time, Kitt leads Wildfyr through a riskier route, skimming inches away from de-mag strips in pursuit of those precious few metres.

And when she emerges from the forest, she’s on his tail.

So they shoot down the stretch to the hairpin, and if she’s stepping it up, so is everyone else. The turquoise racer activates a small piece of gear that sticks out from the dragon’s shoulder and instantly the other racers on the course stumble. Kitt shakes her head against the sudden ache in her temples – it’s a sound frequency of some sort, and she covers the small hearing slots on Wyldfyr’s head.

“Keep it steady, girl!” she shouts. Ahead she sees Moordryd doing the same for his dragon, but Tanner is just pushing forward despite her dragon’s stumbles.

And then, scant metres before the brake point of the hairpin, Moordryd throws his hands up like he’s flinching away from a physical blow. His dragon, unbalanced from whatever the turquoise racer did, tries to brake and dodge whatever its rider is reacting to, only to topple and crash to the ground, sliding across the bend.

Tanner, too close already, has to pull a drastic thruster-aided swerve to avoid the downed dragon, and in the process moves directly into the turquoise racer’s path, and by extension, Kitt’s. Tanner speeds off, and the two of them scramble to brake and then thrust in sequence to try and avoid collision. In the confusion Tanner pulls ahead, but Kitt is a quick thinker. She uses the slight downhill slope of the hairpin as well as her height advantage over the turquoise racer, slamming out her aero gear once more and pushing the thrusters to full.

She _flies_ over the turquoise racer and touches down with a stamp of Wyldfyr’s clawed feet, digging in on impact to launch forward in a dead sprint.

The turquoise racer pushes, but the final straight leaves no time to pull ahead again.

Moordryd is left behind.

The turquoise racer piles on the speed too late.

And Tanner crosses the line in first place, with Kitt only five metres behind.

The crowd at the finish line is entirely made of teachers and students, some of them from the second year class, even, so it isn’t exactly swarming. But the cheers are loud enough as Tanner and Kitt slide to a stop, with the turquoise racer skidding in behind them and the two other racers finally emerging from the hairpin. Kitt slides from the saddle and rubs Wyldfyr’s neck, pulling her down to press their foreheads together for a moment. “Thanks, girl,” she whispers, and smiles when Wyldfyr nuzzles her before pulling away.

The stretch of track in front of the finish line becomes busy unbelievably quickly. The rescue crews head out to retrieve the downed racers from the course, and the team members of all the racers pour out of the stands, heading to congratulate their friends. Kitt catches a glance of Cain looking fairly lost before Lance slams into her waist, laughing clearly over the babble of voices.

“That was awesome, Kitt!” Artha crows, and now he’s hugging her from the other side, catching her in a Penn trap. She laughs too, and throws her arms around both their shoulders.

“That was some _incredible_ racing!” Parm enthuses, bouncing on the spot. Artha makes a noise of agreement and pulls back.

“Where was _that_ when we were facing each other back on the All City Circuit?” he asks. “You would’ve _roasted_ me, Kitt!”

“I like to go easy on you,” she says smugly. “Don’t go forgetting it again.”

“I certainly won’t,” a new voice says, and the four of them turn to see Tanner, who’s led her own dragon over to them. Her crew is behind her, looking slightly nervous. “Seems like there were two winners on the track today,” she says.

After two weeks of cryptic conversations and hidden intentions, Kitt has had it up to her ears with Tanner. She snaps, “Well, I only see one. Say what you mean, Tanner – I need to take care of my dragon.”

Wyldfyr tosses her head and snaps lazily. Tanner eyes the dragon and then gives Kitt a thoughtful look.

“Alright,” she says slowly. “So do I, you know." She nods her head to the path leading to the stables and starts walking, leaving her crew behind her. For once, her message is clear: _follow me, alone._

“I'll be right back,” Kitt says. She shakes Lance off her waist and ignores Artha and Parm's concerned expressions.

The walk is quick and quiet, the sounds of the finish line fading once they turn down a corridor. The stables, like the dorms, are separated by Casa Draconis, so Wyldfyr has been rooming with Tanner's dragon, along with the sweet little black dragon that one of the crew had brought along. Kitt's barely led Wyldfyr into her stall before a latch clicks and Tanner is leaning against the post between the stalls, watching her.

“You've been stringing me along since the Reception Gala,” Kitt says, matching her pose with arms crossed. "Acting weird, buttering me up, treating me like – like some sort of _celebrity_. And that stops here.”

“If you insist,” Tanner says mildly. But Kitt’s too tired and too full of adrenaline from the race to let it go just like that.

“And I wanna know _why_ ,” she stresses. “So you better start talking.”

Tanner sizes her up, and in an instant, drops the easy-going expression in favour of something more natural.

“Alright,” she says. For once, she sounds bare and honest, no flattery or cunning in-built. “Kitt Wonn, I treat you like a celebrity because you _should_ be one. I was watching your progress last season, and I know I’m not the only one. Today proved once more that you have the skills to be the leader of your own team, and yet…” She shrugs. “Here you are. Second-string to a mismatched team, without sponsors, without a chance of making it through the trimester, let alone the year.”

“My team is the best there is, and you don’t know a _thing_ about them,” Kitt snaps.

“I know that you can do better,” Tanner says. “And that’s what I’m offering.”

That brings Kitt up short. “Offering?” she says warily, but her heart lurches, already knowing what Tanner’s about to say.

“I’m offering you guaranteed success,” Tanner says, and holds out a hand. “I’m offering you a place on our team, Kitt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our heroes have finished their first fortnight, and the academy racing season is off with a bang! some notes before i disappear into the void until the next update:
> 
> race structure and some minor details taken from Hover Car Racer -- academy scheduling is all my own, but you can find a ref sheet [here](http://wanime.tumblr.com/post/158298329585/some-stuff-re-the-dbooster-chapter-im-abt-to) \-- yes, all the gear mentioned in this chapter is canonical, as per [this source](http://www.dragon-city.org/kitts_dragon_city_guide.htm).
> 
> i chose not to focus on their classes this chapter, since i wanted to get to the race and all the gooey plot details it brought with it. want more detail on the classes next chapter? want less on the next race? drop a suggestion here or on my tumblr!
> 
> and that's all for now! see you on the other side of this cliffhanger!


	5. interlude: stepping up / stepping down

The first of the rescue crews return quickly, Moordryd riding alongside them with his dragon and his pride seemingly intact. Such a shame, Cain thinks. He likes Decepshun, and he’s glad she’s okay, but Moordryd’s pride is long overdue for some battering.

“What was that?” he hisses when Moordryd finally pulls over the line and dismounts. “You were in second place! Now you’re gonna have to cheat extra hard on the next race to catch up!” A DNF – Did Not Finish – on their first race of the season would be a disaster on their cumulative score, and Cain spends a second calculating just how scraped their scales are before Moordryd interrupts.

“I’m not _cheating!_ ” he says with a scowl. “That’s what my _father_ has done to get ahead. Don’t you think I can win races _without_ his help?”

He’s been saying things like this since the Dragball match weeks ago. He’s been saying and doing a lot of weird stuff since the Dragball match. “You don’t need his help,” Cain says. “I help too, you know.”

Moordryd rolls his eyes and waves him away, turning to lead his dragon to the stables, but Cain follows with determination. It’s frustrating how even after years of knowing each other, Moordryd can say things that Cain just doesn’t _get_. How he has to run the words over in his head, trying to think how Moordryd thinks, grasping at any clue as to what he could _mean_ by the things he says.He’d hoped that gaining the Seer rank in the Dragon Eyes would help, but it was a vain hope. His mild Psi-class abilities are no match for the enigma that is Moordryd Paynn.

“It’s harder to get away with it here,” he says, cautiously. Moordryd’s scowl deepens. Not that, then.

“You’re just like him, aren’t you?” Moordryd says. His voice is acidic and it echoes in the corridor to the stables. “Acting like I can’t do anything without cheating, or standing on someone else’s shoulders to get there. Well I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps, spinning to jab a finger in Cain’s chest. “I didn’t want my father’s help, and I don’t want help from him ever again. Not him, not _you_ , and not—”

His other hand is clutching the amulet hidden beneath his racing jacket. When he sees Cain looking, his hand slowly relaxes, and he lets both his arms fall to his sides.

The stables are still busy when they arrive, but the walls between stall blocks are thick, so once Moordryd starts brushing down Decepshun’s scales and Cain’s greeted Coershun, he starts talking. “What happened out there, Moordryd?”

For a long moment he thinks Moordryd is just going to ignore him. But eventually, he mutters, “I don’t know. Must’ve passed out. I haven’t been… sleeping.”

 It’s not like Cain doesn’t know that. They’re sleeping in the same room, and Moordryd’s tossing and turning has kept him awake half the time as well. But for Moordryd to actually admit it?

There’s something bigger happening here.

He thinks Moordryd is waiting for him to say something, but after another few seconds, he just twitches and reaches into his jacket, yanking the amulet over his head and tossing it into the corner of the stall. He mutters something under his breath as well, but Cain is looking at the amulet. It doesn’t radiate power, at least not to him. Honestly, it just looks like a large piece of jewellery, something he might have worn when he was a little younger.

He’s never seen it up close before, though. “Is that why you can’t tell me what’s _really_ happening?” he asks, stepping over to it and hunkering down to reach for it. “Is it like, a Shadow Booster problem, or—”

“ _Don’t touch it!”_ A pale hand grabs him by the wrist, inches from the amulet, and yanks him to his feet. Bewildered, Cain just stares at Moordryd. “Don’t touch it,” Moordryd repeats, eyes uncharacteristically wide. Cain holds up his hands.

“Okay, take it easy,” he says. Moordryd snatches the amulet up and back over his neck, and by the time it’s hidden beneath his jacket once more, he looks more or less back to his usually miserable self. Great.

“What do you care, anyway?” he snaps. “It doesn’t concern you!”

“What do I care?” Cain repeats. “I’m your best friend! You crashed your dragon during a race today and almost got stampeded! _Of course I care!”_ A wave of bitterness washes over him and he crosses his arms. “You know, for the leader of the Dragon Eyes, you don’t really _see_ much, do you, Moordryd?”

He remembers the party Moordryd threw him in apology for missing the first one. The way he’d smiled, really actually smiled when Cain had handed him a slice of the cake, both of them knowing it was Moordryd’s favourite. How he’d thrown away the amulet then, too, and seemed lighter than he had in years, laughing at all the guests asking Cain to read their minds and ignoring him when he said his Psi-powers didn’t work that way.

Moordryd is his best friend, and has been for years, although most of the time it’s a one way street. That was the first night in a while where it hadn’t felt that way – but he probably should’ve known better than to get used to it.

His expression must be pretty harsh, because Moordryd is looking at him kind of hopelessly. A satisfying flip of how it usually is, Cain thinks.

“I…” Moordryd starts, and then looks down. “You’re—” he tries again, but he cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “I’ll see you in class,” he says instead, and storms out of the stable, leaving the door swinging behind him.

Decepshun croons softly. Cain rubs a hand over her neck. “I’m worried too,” he tells her, “but I’ve got an idea.”

He can’t help Moordryd with a Shadow Booster problem if he’s not a Booster.

So he’s just going to have to find someone who _is_.

 

 

 

 

 

“Why doesn’t he bother changing his voice when he’s doing his hero stuff?” Artha asks through a mouthful of scale crisps. Kitt wrinkles her nose. They’re sitting cramped on the squishy couch in the blue dorm, with Lance lying on the carpet in front of them, kicking his legs in the air every now and then.

“It’s sooooo obvious who he is,” Lance agrees. He takes a long slurp of his drink. “Everyone should know it’s him.”

They watch the hero onscreen use his powers to float the keys off the supervillain’s desk and into his hands.

“Especially since the bad guy is his best friend’s dad,” Lance adds. “He should know what Jayk sounds like.”

“Actually,” Parm begins. Kitt throws a scale crisp at him. “Well, you did ask! Most people have a much higher accuracy at recognising faces than voices, and especially matching faces to identities. Once the face is hidden, recognition drops at a remarkable rate. And besides,” he adds, “would any of Jayk’s friends really expect him to be a hero? The cognitive dissonance alone—”

“Wow, harsh, Professor,” Kitt says. Artha laughs. “He’s not _that_ bad.”

“Yeah!” Lance says, “He always looks after his little sister, even when she’s super annoying.”

“Aw, that definitely makes him a hero, then,” Artha says, kicking at Lance’s feet. Lance kicks back and they have a brief scuffle.

“Shhh, you two,” Parm says, flapping a hand in Artha’s face, “they’re talking about the scientific origin of his powers again!”

Kitt, Artha and Lance all groan in unison. “It’s a cartoon, Professor, not mag physics,” Kitt complains. “How interesting can it be?”

“Very interesting, thank you very much!” Parm says, leaning around Artha and gesturing enthusiastically. “We haven’t really been given enough information yet so it’s mostly guesswork, but I’ve been working on a theory that his powers are a manifestation of some sort of mutation of—”

“Make it stop,” Lance moans, thumping his head on the carpet.

“Can't you put a lid on Professor Motormouth here, Artha?” Kitt asks, slumping back in her seat. Parm huffs.

“I was only—” he starts, but cuts himself off when Artha leans his head on his shoulder.

“Just watch the show, Parm,” he says. “You can tell me about it later.”

Lance cheers as something onscreen explodes, and Parm stutters but doesn’t try to move Artha away from him, and it all feels like old times at Penn Stables, except for the guilt curling in Kitt’s stomach. It’s been stuck in there since she left Tanner standing beside her dragon and gone storming back to her crew, her friends, her _family._

She’d turned down Tanner’s offer, so why can’t she stop thinking about it?

The hero onscreen does a flip through the air and knocks down a bad guy across the room. “Feels weird, not being out there saving the city,” she says, cramming another handful of scale crisps into her mouth.

“It feels awesome,” Artha says. “I haven’t had a break in months!” He slumps over onto Parm a little more, ignoring his squawk. “Even if it is a break where we have to do homework.”

“I’m still tracking any bulletins from Precinct, and the Down City Council updates,” Parm adds after a moment. “It’s all been very quiet. Suspiciously so, even.”

“Moordryd’s in here with us, who else ever makes trouble with the Council?” Artha points out. “I think we can really relax for a while, guys. No Booster stuff.”

“No Booster stuff,” Parm repeats, and when Kitt looks over she sees him looking at his arm, right where his Power Booster gauntlet is hidden beneath his sleeve.

“No Booster stuff,” she says quietly, thoughts running to the painting of the Fire Booster in the library.

“Come on, you guys, the show’s almost over!” Lance whines.

The contemplative moment is broken. Artha kicks at Lance’s feet again and Kitt sits back, trying to clear her mind of anything to do with the Fire Booster or Tanner. She has at least one night with her crew before they go back to homework and racing practice and being on alert for danger in the city, and she’s going to enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short update! yes it was quick, no don't get used to it -- half of this was written months ago, and i just had to tweak some things to align with current plot direction. on that note, you may notice the story summary is much shorter now. i wrote it almost a year ago, when i had much less of this thing planned out, and it made reference to a plot i've since dropped, so. here we are. 
> 
> optimistic outlook for next chapter? one month. realistic? probably before august. we'll see.


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